HE mighty and aggressive Wilhelm was not without experience of involuntary submission, as befalls most men. At least not all of the battle was to one so strong. The treaty of 1871 was ratified, and the eagerly desired Manesse manuscript continued a possession of the Bibliotheque Nationale. The glory of its recovery for which so valiant and otherwise victorious a ruler struggled, remained for one less invincible to achieve.

In restoring this inestimable treasure to the Bibliotheca Palatina at Heidelberg the dying Frederick accomplished an act which during the past two centuries the German government has more than once attempted in vain. This royal benefaction was duly acknowledged by the Emperor's brother-in-law, the Grand Duke of Baden, as Rector Magnificentissimus of that venerable seat of learning. The final acquisition of this paleographic gem is a cause of such national rejoicing as its original presentation to the ancient library of Heidelberg by Marguard Freher in 1607 could hardly have created. Previously to that date the manuscript was in the possession of a baron of Hohn-Sax whose strong castle was situated near Saint Gall in Switzerland, where one of the great schools of caligraphy and painting flour ished in the time of Charlemagne.

The circumstances from which this precious specimen of mediæval ornamented writings passed from the Palatine Library into the possession of a Parisian bibliophile during the vicissitudes and tumults of the Thirty Years' War are in a measure obscured. It is better known how steadily and how fruitlessly the Germans labored in successive ages for its recovery. In its restoration by the stricken Kaiser the service of Herr Carl Treubner, the widely-known Strasburg bookseller, was of essential value. As has been acknowledged, the successful negotiation for this long coveted volume depended on a different purchase consummated by so wise a dealer. He had bought at no less a cost than $130,000 a series of valuable ancient French manuscripts from the Ashburnham collection. From this act on the part of a subject the

Emperor has been able to dissolve the spell with which the famous volume recovered for the Bibliotheca Palatina had been bound away from Germany for many royal generations.

This manuscript is named from the Swiss magistrate Manesse (Reidiger de), whose death was recorded in 1384. In addition to his esteemed public services, including the improvement of the constitution of Zurich, this official distinguished himself by his love of letters and poetry. To him and to his son is credited this collection of beautiful poems of their time, which bears their name as well as that of "Works of the Minnesingers." These writings are on parchment, forming a volume of four hundred and twenty-nine leaves, including one hundred and thirtyseven richly ornamented pages. In acceptance of the view of Dr. Kugler (Handbuch de Kuntgeschicht), and of other writers, this collection of songs of the mastersingers of the fourteenth century has been prized as one of the most peculiar examples in the paleographic cabinet at Paris. Its 7,000 verses, united as the "Lay of the Minnesingers," represent no less than one hundred and forty poets. In addition to the miniatures of the earliest of Minnesingers of princely and knightly blood it contains a representation of the Wartburg War, famed in mediæval tradition. This contest in song was enacted by six masters of the art of singing connected with the court of the landgrave Hermann on the Wartburg. The company was one developed from the singing-schools renowned in Mainz, Nuremberg and Strasburg, of which the earliest organization had been formed by twelve men, celebrated singers, the union being ratified by Otto the Great, who conferred distinction also with an armorial bearing and a crown. Of these six great singers, five of noble birth were knights, including the territorial-lord Walther von der Vogelweide and Wolfram Rohn; one of equally noble soul was a citizen of Eisenbach, Heinrich von Ofterdinger. They celebrated in songs the glory of the landgrave and the virtue of the landgravine Sophia. When resolving upon a contest of song they called

this the War of the Wartburg. As in war, it is a question of life and death, they agreed among themselves that he who came off worse should be hung.

They contended in song, and Heinrich von Ofterdinger was vanquished. When the others would have taken his life he sought shelter under the cloak of the lady Sophia, and she screened him and contrived that the vanquished one should obtain the assistance of a master in song, so as in the space of a year to offer himself again to the contest. He now traveled about, and went also into Hungary where he saw Nicolaus Klingsor observing the stars, the renowned Klingsor, Master of the Liberal Arts, and a mighty astrologer and necromancer. He laid the matter before him, and the necromancer promised to come at the end of a year, if he should by that time have observed all the stars, for before then he would not stir from his place. Heinrich had on this account much sorrow and care. He waited one moon after another. The year was nearly gone, and he learned that Klingsor was still counting the stars at home. But on the very day on which the contest for song was to take place in the Knight's house Klingsor caused himself to be carried by his spirits to Thüringen, and proceeded towards the Wartburg in the guise of a bishop. The contest had commenced. First Wolfram began, and then Klingsor sang with great skill of the nature of the heavenly spheres, of the stars, and of the movement of the planets. Wolfram knew nothing of all this, and was obliged to be silent. Then he in his turn praised the glory of God, and proclaimed how the Word had become flesh, and how our Lord Jesus Christ had given His blood for Christendom as a pledge and earnest of eternal blessedness. Klingsor knew nothing of all this, and was obliged to be silent. Klingsor now summoned his servant, the devil Nasian, who appeared with four books in a bright glare of fire. Wolfram, when he saw his opponent lose courage, proceeded triumphantly, "God is the highest being, and God is the Lord of all worlds." Dost thou know all worlds?" asked Nasian, and Wolfram looked at him embarrassed. Schnipp, schnapp!" then cried Nasian; "thou art a layman. How dost thou know that God is the Lord of all worlds,

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if thou dost not know how many worlds there are?" And he wrote on the wall with his finger, "Wolfram is vanquished!" The landgrave then decided that neither had surpassed the other, and allowed Klingsor to leave the court laden with precious gifts. Thus were saved Wolfram's honor and Ofterdinger's life.

Such is the history of the Wartburg Contest, embodied with the charming narrative of "Norica," depicting life in Nuremberg in the time of Albert Durer.

The art of illumination was at its most vigorous stage at the time this manuscript was executed. The work is ranked with specially prized examples as representing the progressive development toward the final perfection of painting, with its reflection in miniatures, attained at a later age. During the latter half of the thirteenth century, the illuminists, under the general influence of Giotto, had vastly improved their art "with tints that gayer smile," and in superior grace of design, while costly ornamented manuscripts were less numerously produced than at the beginning of that age. A renewed activity in the production of large and elaborately adorned volumes at the early part of the fourteenth century was united with some decline in taste. The execution, as well as the design, had become coarser with a predominance of the angular or Gothic motive, and when the long-tailed letters were formed into marginal bars. The change of greatest importance was that dependent on the character of subjects. As early as the end of the twelfth century profane literature had commenced to be popularized; while the tableaux benoits or images of piety continued frequent, the miniature painting largely represented scenes of public and private life combining studies from the manners and customs of the age. As portraits from life made their appearance caricature also was introduced. A tendency to grotesque subjects appears in the numerous manuscripts produced at the time in France and England. Such examples are ornamented with initial letters in brilliant colors and gold, containing figures of men and animals and terminating in spiral scrolls which extend along the upper and lower margins of the volumes. The letters forming the style known as historiées, on ac

count of their bearing reference to or illustrating the text to which they are prefixed, and varying in size from two inches to a foot in length, have been frequently noticed in Visi-Gothic and Franco-Gallic manuscripts. The perfection of the lace-like foliation known as the ivy pattern was an additional feature of the style of the period. The splendid beauty in color also then attained was such as later artists have never been able to imitate. A Romance of Alexander in the Bodleian Library is one of the renowned examples of the French style of coloring at this epoch, and a corresponding specimen of German art is preserved in the Imperial Library at Vienna.

Among other remarkable fourteenth century manuscripts is "Les Merveilles du Monde," in the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris, and a "Roman de la Rose," named as the "cream of the Harleian collection, as also "a transcendent copy," compared to a nosegay, which has among its numerous representations that of a bishop excommunicating Love. From works like these the art of illumination advanced to its subsequent finer character, as seen in the latest specimen of importance, the magnificent missal in the public library at Rouen, nearly three feet in height, which represents thirty years' labor of a monk of St. Audoen, having been completed in 1682. E. T. Lander.

CHARACTERS:

ROBERT WILLIAMS ALICE LESTRANGE JOANNA

SCENE:

. Her Brother.

The Library in the Williams mansion in Beacon street, Boston. ROBERT seated, with newspaper and cigarette. Enter ALICE.

ROBERT. How do you do, Alice? I thought I recognized your silvery tones. ALICE. Good morning, Robert. Dorothy is in, Joanna tells me.

ROBERT. Yes; she ran upstairs a while ago with a letter which the postman brought her. I imagine its contents are of a somewhat exciting nature, judging from the sounds I hear up there. I thought just now she was coming through the ceiling. (Several loud thumps are heard above.) What in the world do you suppose she is doing?

ALICE. It sounds as though she were certainly. I feared I might interrupt her, coming at this hour. Do you know what she is doing now in a literary way?

ROBERT. Heavens, Alice, don't ask me! I don't pretend to know anything about it; but she is scribbling away still, I believe.

ALICE. Robert, I should think you would be so proud of Dorothy-so interested in her work.

ROBERT. I never get a chance to see any of it. The last thing she read me I mortally offended her by going off into a fit of laughing in the wrong place. She has kept very quiet since then, and never mentions her poems or romances.

ALICE. But you know that Dorothy has talent, Robert.

ROBERT. Yes, I will admit that I think Dolly is a very bright girl. I am

DOROTHY. Most certainly not. ROBERT. Well, if I may be pardoned such an expression in the presence of a rising young authoress, I am completely flabbergasted.

ALICE. Oh, Robert!

DOROTHY. I suppose, because my story does not follow in the old lines which conventionality has laid down and the majority of readers have accepted as correct, you are surprised that it should be accepted by a magazine of prominence, are you?

ROBERT. That is a very delicate way of describing my state of mind.

you,

DOROTHY (earnestly). I tell Robert, there has been a reaction from the methods which have so long been popular. The school of Howells and James is a delightful one, I admit, but it has had its day. The microscopic inspection of the brain cells-the delicate vivisection of the fibres of the heart is a fascinating study, but it is futile and grows wearisome. What people really want is the living, palpable flesh, and the rich, warm blood that flows through it.

ROBERT. And Miss Dorothy Williams, with dagger and gunpowder, is going to lay open the palpable flesh, and let the rich, warm blood flow galore! Bravo, Dorothy!

DOROTHY. Because "Irene's Vow" is tragic, because the characters all die, you think it sensational-ludicrous. In the sublimest production of an immortal genius there are four persons killed by poison, two are stabbed, the seventh commits suicide, and a ghost walks through all, yet who thinks of calling "Hamlet" sensational-who would dare I call it ridiculous?

ROBERT. And if Shakespeare can end a play, leaving seven dead bodies to be carried out, Miss Williams claims the humble privilege of slaughtering only four. Is that the idea?

DOROTHY. That is exactly my position, if you choose to express it in those words.

ROBERT. Well, Dorothy, your arguments are unanswerable, but I can't understand yet how you managed to work that story off.

DOROTHY. Suppose you give up trying, and listen to my plans. To tell the

truth, I don't think "Irene's Vow " is my best work by any means, and I only sent it to The Analyst because it had been in every place else. Now I am going to begin work in earnest. In the first place, I want you to see at once about getting me a large desk; then I shall want a blank book, in which I shall keep a record of everything I write-"such and such a story offered such a place," and opposite I shall write the date of its acceptance and then of its publication.

ROBERT. Would there be a column for the rejections?

DOROTHY (with dignity). I trust there will be no need of such a thing now. I intend to work in a businesslike way. I shall write from 9 to 1 each morning. Anthony Trollope worked a certain number of hours every day, with machine-like regularity. Anthony Trollope was not a great novelist, but he was a successful one, and I shall not despise to learn from him.

ROBERT. It strikes me, Alice, that our authoress is quite a liberal-minded young person. What do you think?

ALICE. Indeed, Dorothy, he does not talk like this behind your back; you should have heard him praising you before you came down.

DOROTHY. Then I shall want a typewriter.

ROBERT. A typewriter!
DOROTHY.

am

Yes, and an amanuensis— an operator. I compose best when I like this (she rises and walks up and down). Then the thoughts come thick and fast-too fast for me to seize and transfix them with my pen. I must have an assistant. Alice, if you will learn to use the typewriter, you may come and help me.

ALICE. Oh, I should love to, if I could, Dorothy.

DOROTHY. But no, it would not do, I fear. You are my friend and confidant. We should have much to say to one another. No, Alice, it would be pleasant, but even the ties of friendship must yield to the demands of my work. The woman who acts as my amanuensis must sit dumb, inanimate; she will be part of the furniture of the room; when she speaks, it must be only when necessity requires her to answer to my dictation.