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Innocence abducted: youth, war, and the wolf in literary adaptations of the Pied Piper legend from Robert Browning to Michel Tournier.

With the Enlightenment in the eighteenth century comes a shift in how adults see children. The child is no longer viewed just as a social phenomenon but also as a psychological one. The rising bourgeoisie sees childhood and childness as phenomena that are essentially fraught with deficits for both children and adults. For children, the deficit is primarily one of education, as the child is understood to lack all virtues the rising bourgeoisie expects from itself (Liebs 63). The appearance of theories of education such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau's Emile reflects this stage in the cultural evolution of childhood in which children are seen as lacking something that an education can provide. The deficit associated with childhood and childness, however, also directly concerns the adult bourgeois world, which, in understanding the child's mind increasingly as a psychological phenomenon, sees itself removed from it and no longer partaking of it. The bourgeois class is increasingly concerned with feelings of regret and desire for the loss of the child's purported innocence. Increasingly, therefore, childhood and childness become imaginary topoi determined by the projections of adults.

The irretrievable loss that childhood represents receives metaphorical attention in literature throughout the ages. As a psychological phenomenon of adult regret and desire, it appears especially in literary adaptations of the Pied Piper legend, in which children literally disappear from their community. In her seminal study of the Pied Piper, Elke Liebs successfully tracks this central motif from the earliest iterations of the legend to the literary history of Pied Piper adaptions in Germany and beyond. She argues that in post-Enlightenment literatures, these adaptations display adult aggression toward children by attempting to civilize, punish, or eliminate them, an aggression that is rooted in the deficit associated with adult estrangement from childhood innocence. It is safe to say that many modern literary adaptations of the Piper legend debunk the myth of childhood innocence, suggesting, along with Jacqueline Rose, that childhood innocence is a product of adult desire and fear (xii). Modern and postmodern texts that build their narratives around the Piper legend often end up parodying the ideal of childhood innocence.

The legend of the Piper of Hamelin first arises in the fifteenth century and, from the beginning, its textual adaptations display an acute tension between mythological material fed by subconscious fear and desire on the one hand, and by historical fact on the other. Heinrich Spanuth describes the development of this tension in some detail. Initially, the story of the mysterious Piper appears in chronicles such as the "Luneburger Handschrift" and the "Bamberger Chronik," dating the event of the disappearance of about 130 children or youngsters from the town of Hamelin on 26 June 1284. The material then loses its historical authenticity, especially in the seventeenth century when it is strongly demonized and mythologized: the Pied Piper came to be seen as an incarnation of the devil, and for the first time the children disappear inside the fictitious Koppelberg. In more rational-minded England, however, the theory arises that Hamelin's youth are recruited for the purpose of colonizing Siebenburgen, an area in central Romania (Spanuth 43-44). During the eighteenth century, the Age of Reason, there are further attempts to explain the legend historically, as one may expect, thus de-demonizing and de-mythologizing it. The legend is either discarded as mere superstition or interpreted as a remaining fragment of a historical event (Spanuth 58). During the Romantic period, especially in the fairy-tale adaptation by the Brothers Grimm, the legend is then once again clad in an aura of demonic mystery and is understood as folk myth due to the Piper's relationship with such figures as the Nordic spirit of the Erlking, who also abducts children.

The motifs of abduction, corruption, and exploitation of childhood and youth in the context of war are central to some of the literary adaptations in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, especially in Wilhelm Raabe's novella Die Hamelschen Kinder [The Children of Hamelin], Bertold Brecht's poem "Die wahre Geschichte vom Rattenfanger von Hameln" [The True Story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin], Gunter Grass's novels Die Blechtrommel [The Tin Drum] and Die Rattin [The Rat], and--outside of Germany--Michel Tournier's novel Le Roi des aulnes [The Ogre].

The exploitation of childhood innocence for the purpose of war and destruction is a motif that haunts us to this day, if we think of the Taliban's recruitment of children as suicide bombers, for instance. The Piper is closely associated with the corruption of youth as a reaction to the maltreatment he experiences at the hands of the Hamelin community due to his foreignness. The imbrication of the Piper's abduction and corruption of youth with war and race first occurs in the nineteenth century, in Wilhelm Raabe's realist adaption at the height of the bourgeois age. It then becomes full-blown during and after the rise of fascism. While Brecht's poem undoubtedly alludes to the seduction of Germans by Hitler, it is especially Grass and Tournier who discuss the Pied Piper in connection with National Socialism, its ideology of race, recruitment for war, and aftermath. In Grass's The Tin Drum, the protagonist Oskar Matzerath, who is both a representation of fascism and a victim of Nazi Germany, briefly assumes the role of the Piper in the service of post-war Vergangenheitbewaltigung, Germany's attempts to come to terms with its past, while in The Rat Grass is, like Brecht, explicit about the Piper as an image for Hitler seducing the Germans. In Tournier's text, the central motif of children's abduction is placed entirely in the context of racial selection and the recruitment of minors during the Second World War. Here, it is oddly enough a victim of the Nazis, the protagonist Abel Tiffauges, a French POW in Nazi Germany, who abducts boys of adequate age to be used as cannon fodder on the Eastern front.

With the exception of Grass's and Brecht's identification of Hitler as the Pied Piper, most of these literary adaptations follow the example of the traditional legend in creating a duplicitous piper who is both victim and oppressor. In the traditional legend and those adaptations that adhere closely to it, the Piper is benign as long as he helps the community, rids it of the mouse problem or, as in the case of Raabe, helps the townsfolk in times of anguish--"sie konnten den Pfeifer wohl gebrauchen in dieser angstlichen Zeit" [they were able to put the Piper to good use in these fearful times] (141). But the Piper also has the potential to turn evil and seek revenge after being slighted. In the legend and in Browning's poem, he is slighted by not being paid. The reason he is not paid, apart from the Mayor's avarice, is that the Piper is an itinerant outside of bourgeois society, a traveller without possessions and thus, in the eyes of the community, a man without honour and without social rights. It is this potential to turn evil, in conjunction with his itinerant lifestyle and the absence of social rights, that turn the Piper into a figure that lends itself to representations in which the liminality between the human and the animal becomes visible. In his corruption of youth, the Piper appeals to the animal instinct in humans while also being the emissary of such an animal instinct, primarily in the sense of a sexual, Dionysian impulse. He is consequently represented in an aura of animality in many adaptations.

This is especially prominent in Raabe's story, in which the Slavic Kiza is described as a wolf-like person, especially his bright eyes that have "mehr vom Wolf als vom Menschen" [more of the wolf than of man] (134), a set piece in adaptations of the legend, given that Browning also places emphasis on the piper's "sharp blue eyes, each like a pin" (104). It is this wolf-like appearance that in Raabe's story sparks the racism of the Hamelin community, Kiza's maltreatment, and as a consequence of it, his revenge. He leads Hamelin's youth into war against the Bishop Wedekind and against Minden, in what became known in history as the Battle of Sedemunde in 1260, and betrays them shamefully so that they are all slain near the Koppelberg.

Despite this realist aura, myth and history merge in Raabe's story. Its posited connection between the wolf-like scoundrel and the recruitment of warriors is an ancient one. The Piper is a figure at the interstices of myth and history steeped in European cultural traditions, as "under the veil of mythology lies a solid reality," to borrow from the Victorian collector of folk tales Sabine Baring-Gould (12). The Piper's intoxication of youth in the context of war and of sexual awakening, as we see it especially in Raabe's story, aligns him with a figure from the depths of Northern European history, the vargr or berserkr. I would argue that the Piper is a cultural manifestation of the medieval political and legal paradigm of the wolf man, and that in this figure the treatment of outsiders and the idea of recruitment of youth for war are extremely close. Vargr is the Old Norse word for "wolf" and "outlaw." In the Volsunga Saga from the late thirteenth century, the hero Sigi is pronounced a vargr, "a wolf in the holy places" (Douglas 67) and, according to Baring-Gould, vargr not only implies the wolf but also a godless man (41). As Bruce Chatwin argues, around 500 CE "The Middle

Latin wargus--i.e., 'expulsus' or 'stranger,' is also the same as the wolf; and thus the two conceptions--that of the wild beast to be hunted down, and that of the man to be treated as a wild beast--are intimately associated" (220). The term wargus also refers to someone who desecrates corpses (Donalson 103), evoking the werewolf mania in France in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the result of people seeing wolves eating corpses in battlefields. The Anglo-Saxons regarded him as an evil man, a wearg, a scoundrel. Among the Anglo-Saxons an utlagh, an outlaw, was said to have the head of a wolf. Outlaws were also associated with wolves because they lived like them, in the woods, ready to attack travellers or maraud villages, whether solitary or in packs. The Irish fianna, early Mannerbunde, the Old Celtic koryos, or Old Germanic haryaz (Heer [army]) are also part of this paradigm (McCone 112). The koryos consists of dispossessed youths of free birth who lead an unrestrained life full of hunting, robbery, and warfare on the margins of society (McCone 114). Sexual licentiousness is a substantial part of this lifestyle, which precedes the sedentary later phase in life within the teuta, the Stamm or tribe. These two phases of nomadism outside of society and sedentariness within the tribe point to a literary evolution from the wandering rogue, the Pied Piper being one literary manifestation among these, to the hero of the Bildungsroman who becomes socially integrated. The youthful phase of wandering, thievishness, and warfare is linked closely to the image of the wolf or dog, and we will see how this motif reappears in Raabe's protagonist Kiza and Tournier's Abel Tiffauges, both of whom recruit youth for war. The warmongering dog man occurs as early as in the Irish hero Cu Chulainn, who as a six-year-old boy slays a giant dog, an act that earns him the name Cu (Old Irish for dog) as well as a spear, a shield, a chariot, and horses with which he works himself into a state of frenzy, threatening his own people (McCone 113). In order to stifle his heat, Cu Chulainn has to be submerged in three barrels of ice-cold water, a motif that reappears in twentieth-century literature if we think, for example, of Esteban Truebas in Isabel Allende's La Casa de los Espiritos, the patriarch who has to stifle his own dog-like heat (he is compared with the huge dog Barrabas) in ice-cold water after raping the peasant girls of his country estate.

The classical vargr is the Old Norse or Viking figure of the berserkr, the warrior who fights with extreme vigour and fierceness, and shares with the vargr his exile or banishment. McCone has shown that in 1014, Erik Jarl banished all bandits and berserkrs and that no clear distinction was made between vargr and berserkr (102). Usually the Viking exile lasted for a period of three years of nomadism, after which the young men were allowed to settle down. It was an Old Norse custom among warriors to dress themselves in the animals they had slain, especially in wolf or bear (ber) hide, sack or shirt (serkr), to give themselves an air of ferocity and beastliness in order to intimidate their enemies. To go berserk is an expression derived from the berserkr, one explanation for this term being that the bear sark was the bear or wolf hide used by these warriors in Scandinavia. We can see here already how closely related the idea of animality or hiding in the shape of an animal is to insanity and the frenzy that is necessary when going into war.

In his animality, the berserkr was an ambivalent figure. Although he was marginalized, he was in a position of power, an early form of oppressor or despot, given that he could invite himself onto the property of any farmer and participate in feasts. He was not only a nomad but also a figure outside of the generally applicable law, a trait he shares with the medieval bandit, the Friedlos without peace, as well as with despots and tyrants. The berserkr was closely associated with madness because he had the ferocity of an animal, could work himself up into a state of frenzy, and seemed to be demoniacal. In Snorri Storluson's 1225 text Ynglingasaga, the berserkr is also associated with Wotan or Odin ("frenzy"), the Germanic god of warriors and death, the master of rage (Herr der Wut and Wutenden [McCone 103]), who in turn is associated closely with wolves, especially Fenrir, the mighty mythical wolf who devours Odin at Ragnarok, when the world ends (Orchard 122-25). With the arrival of Christianity, he disappeared, but my argument is that he reappears in literary adaptations of the Pied Piper legend and that his association with non-Christian attributes, specifically with the devil, is explored in the context of war and race in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. With his seductive potential, the fairy-tale wolf in Little Red Riding Hood also fits into this paradigm. With the berserkr the Piper shares his status as an outcast, his wandering accompanied by the fear of persecution, his association with animals (primarily the wolf), his sexual licentiousness, and his recruitment of youth.

This motif of recruiting youth appears as early as in Browning's Piper, whose reappearance from the subterranean terrain in Transylvania suggests that this figure could have been "a so-called locator, in the service of eastern colonization" (Wunderlich 6). Browning's "The Pied Piper of Hamelin," written in May 1842 for little Willie Macready when he was ill, already alludes to the time-honoured racism toward pariahs such as gypsies or other vagrants roaming the countryside. From a bourgeois perspective, the Piper's appearance, his kith and kin, his wandering lifestyle, his reluctance to partake in proper quotidian work, and his association with vermin are all reasons not "to pay this sum to a wandering fellow / with a gipsy coat of red and yellow!" (107). From the perspective of the city dwellers, the exotic Piper roaming the land is almost not human. In atavistic fashion, the foreign is associated with the non-human. The blurring of the boundary between human and animal is, of course, also implied in the twofold abduction motif of rats and children. The Piper's self-expression through music rather than words, the insanity of his Dionysian play, all mark him as irrational, subhuman even, as the kind of fool who was once shipped down the rivers in the stultifera navis (see Foucault, Madness 3-37). In Browning's poem, the Piper's close proximity to the creaturely (1) is revealed by his various chores of pest control around the globe. Browning describes him as killing gnats in Tartary, vampire bats in Asia, and scores of moles, toads, and vipers (105).

As wanderer or vagabond, the Piper poses a threat to the sedentary community. In Browning's poem, he wants money, which is in line with the traditional legend, while in Raabe's account, he seduces the young, above all Athela, the mayor's daughter. In either case, the community looks upon him as a bandit who furtively roams the land. As such a threat to the polis, he corresponds very closely to the vargr or wolf man. He is the friedlos bandit banished from the city to the wilds well beyond the so-called Bannmeile, (2) the befriedete Bezirk (peaceful district). Being without peace is the principal quality of this figure, and of the berserkr in particular, whose chief task it is to be in a constant state of war. The state of war is a state of exception interrupting peace, but to the berserkr, being at war becomes the rule. He finds himself in the state of nature where he is stripped of all peaceful dwelling and thus of all care in the Heideggerian sense. According to Heidegger, the fundamental character of peaceful dwelling is the feeling of being cared for, or Schonung, (3) and the Piper too is located well outside of it. Raabe's piper lives in the forest outside of Hamelin. The apparent freedom of the forest in Raabe's novella is an illusion as it coincides with the persecution of the Friedlos, who is without dwelling, without shelter. Heidegger, too, conceded that open spaces such as the forest provide "no shelter or security. The open is rather the place where what is still undetermined and unresolved plays out, and therefore it is an occasion for erring and going astray" (Parmenides 144). The fate of the Friedlos is undetermined, unresolved, and marked by erring and going astray. As historical fact, Friedlosigkeit has its beginnings in the ancient Germanic custom of excluding criminals and other undesirables from the community. By denying these outcasts' access to the polis, the community reduced them to what Giorgio Agamben has called nuda vita, or bare life (Homo Sacer 65). The racial context is never far from Agamben's nuda vita, which resonates with mythical manifestations of hybridity between the human and the animal, and echoes the Foucaultian discussion of abnormality and monstrosity: "From the Middle Ages to the eighteenth century ... the monster is essentially a mixture ... of two realms, the animal and the human. ... It is the mixture of two individuals ... of two sexes ... of life and death" (Abnormal 63).

Undoubtedly, the medieval exclusion practice, in which men were banished from the city and turned into creatures resembling animals, had an impact on the emergence of subsequent myths and folk culture. The werewolf and various other manifestations of folk culture, such as the fairy-tale wolf and the demonization of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, are likely to have emerged from this practice of expulsion and persecution, with the werewolf possibly being the most transparent reflection in folk culture of a custom that casts these undesirables into a state of exception, back into a state of nature, a state of permanent war. In the political arena, this state of exception applies to persecuted minorities as much as it does to the ruler himself, who is in a position to dissolve the city temporarily in its potential of giving Schonung to its citizens. At such times, the "transformation into a werewolf corresponds perfectly to the state of exception during which time the city is dissolved and men enter into a zone in which they are no longer distinct from beasts" (Agamben, Homo Sacer 107). While the Piper is treated like an animal, a human animal, that is, a monster in the Foucaultian sense, those in power in Hamelin also become human monsters. This ambivalence of the monstrous as pertaining to both victim and perpetrator is at the heart of the Piper legend and its literary adaptations. To the Mayor in Browning's poem, paying the Piper in the end is nothing but a joke, while in Raabe's story the concept of the city with its human rights is dissolved as the whole town engages in torturing the wolf-like Kiza and enters into a zone in which the people of Hamelin are no longer distinct from the purported beast they persecute.

If there is one character in Raabe's work that can serve as an example for the discussion of biopolitics in modernity, Agamben's nuda vita, the absence of Schonung, and Foucault's theories on confinement and insanity in institutions whose inmates are suspended between inclusion within the city and exclusion from it, then it is the naked and neglected feral child he mentions as a historical source for the legend and on whom he models Kiza. (4) This naked youth is a figure who experiences complete neglect and has turned into a creature resembling the bare life of animals, but at the same time his nudity functions as a historical model to the Bacchanalian frenzy and sexual excess the fictional Kiza ignites in Hamelin's youth. Raabe's story thus points to nuda vita, to animality in the twofold sense of the persecuted Friedlos and his traditional sexual licentiousness.

Due to the denial within the community of social rights to the Pied Piper, he takes with him that which hurts it the most, its youth, upon whom its continuance most depends. Raabe's historical novella thus emphasizes the centrality of young people for the community, while at the same time picking up on the denial of social rights to the outsider. His story situates Kiza, the piper, precisely in that state of exception, the state of nature that Agamben has identified for the expellee, the wolf man and his reduction to bare, sacred life. Kiza's wolfish behaviour and menacing eyes are described as a result of his status outside society that makes this kind of animal alertness an absolute survival mechanism (see Czapla 10). Kiza is repeatedly labelled not only as a wolf but also as a Slavic dog, and his animal existence outside the city is described as vogelfrei, as free as the birds, clearly an allusion to the ancient Germanic custom of the Friedlos, Agamben's homo sacer, whom anyone could kill as the outcast was without human rights. The German peasants and other sedentaries in Raabe's novella consider the Wenden, the Slavs on German soil, to be such outcasts. They disperse their villages, and Kiza is one of the few who can survive thanks to his music: "ihn hatte seine Kunst errettet, obgleich sie ihm auch nur ein elendes, vogelfreies, allen Zufallen heimgegebenes Dasein gewahrte" [his art had saved him, although it gave him only a miserable, peaceless (as free as the birds) existence that was dependent upon chance] (140). Raabe's novella is an excellent example of how the figure of the Pied Piper becomes a marker of race and racism in nineteenth-century literature. His text is a forerunner of adaptations of the legend in twentieth-century German literature about the crimes of the Third Reich.

These close connections between myth and political practice in German culture extend well into the twentieth century. The transformation following the custom of expulsion into a state of exception, where homo hominem lupus and anyone can become the proverbial beast killing men whose appearance has likewise turned them into beasts, foreshadows the persecution throughout the twentieth century of groups and individuals such as Gypsies and Jews who were seen as racially unclean, parasitic, and as stateless drifters outside of the national community. As one aspect of monstrosity, Foucault mentions creatures between life and death (Abnormal 63), or the living dead, a phenomenon that evokes not only vampires like Dracula and the mythological Wild Hunt, (5) but also Agamben's extensive discussion of the so-called Muselmann of the camps, those humans who on account of having completely surrendered to fate (hence the comparison with Muslims) were no longer quite alive but whose bodies were not yet dead. (6) In that liminal state between life and death, and through their reduction to a level that dissolves the boundary between the human and non-human, the camp inmate, in particular the Muselmann, corresponds to the Foucaultian definition of the monster and is a twentieth-century Friedlos. The camps are an extreme example of how the homo sacer and the state of exception as located beyond human rights apply to both the outcast and the tyrant at opposite ends of the spectrum. It was specifically in the reduction of humans to parasites, to lice, that they could be more easily stripped of human rights and that the term friedlos acquires new meaning.

It is in this context that Gunter Grass makes reference to the Piper legend. In his novel The Rat, he refers to the famous weekly newsreel episode in which Jews are compared to disease-spreading rats (41). (7)

Grass describes Hitler as the seductive flute player who takes these rats (Jews) to their doom. As is typical of Grass, who enjoys alluding to his own work, The Rat also refers back to another piper, Oskar Matzerath in The Tin Drum, who metaphorically stands in for a range of persecuted minorities in the Third Reich but whom the text also clearly marks as a potential candidate for euthanasia and thus one of Hitler's abducted children:

Thus pied pipers, some dressed conventionally, others in motley, each calling himself by a different name, have led desperate peasant bands and rebellious journeymen, heretics and deviationists, as often as not mere radical minorities but sometimes whole peoples, to perdition. And not so long ago the trusting German people, when the always identical Pied Piper did not cry out, "The rats are our misfortune"--which would hardly have gone down--but put the blame for all the country's misfortune on the Jews--until just about every German thought he knew where all misfortune came from, who had imported and disseminated it, and had therefore to be piped out of town and exterminated like rats.

It's that simple, that easy to derive a moral from legends--one need only smudge them up thoroughly, and in the end they'll bear fruit; namely, full-grown crimes.

This is also the opinion of our Herr Matzerath [Oskar], who, like the harried rodents, has sought a refuge all his life, even when it occurred to him to pose as a piper. He says, "Whenever there has been talk of exterminating rats, others, who were not rats, have been exterminated." (The Rat 41)

We can see how the Piper legend is predestined in alluding to the Sonderbehandlung, the special treatment, a euphemism for the killing of disabled children and Jews. Oskar Matzerath, "like the harried rodents, has sought a refuge all his life," and is an allusion to the Nazis' view of him as "undeserving life" because they consider him as useless as vermin, "even when it occurred to him to pose as a piper." Oskar is persecuted by Hitler the Piper but also poses as a Pied Piper himself, shortly after the war when he drums up a procession of remorseful Germans and leads them from the Onion Cellar, where they learn how to cry again over cutting onions, to the Devil's Gulch where they attempt to regain their innocence by wetting their pants like infants: "And the first thing I did to these postwar humans incapable of a real orgy was to put a harness on them . ... Soon I had their jaws hanging down; they took each other by the hands, turned their toes in, and waited for me, their Pied Piper" (Tin Drum 533). This inversion of Oskar's position from nearly abducted child to the Pied Piper who abducts Germany's innocent "children" exploits the dual nature of this legendary figure and is a highly ironic statement on professions of innocence that, in the words of the narrator, spread like weeds after the war: "for innocence is comparable to a luxuriant weed--just think of all the innocent grandmothers who were once loathsome, spiteful infants" (499). The Fuhrer is a Verfuhrer, a seducer. After innocence is abducted and corrupted by the Nazi party, the guilty adults once again need to acquire their childhood innocence. While Grass develops irony as the young author of The Tin Drum, he waxes more serious about this form of seduction in his autobiography Peeling the Onion, in which he confesses that he went berserk as a seventeen-year-old by joining the Waffen SS, the most notorious unit of the Wehrmacht. Rather apologetically, he adds: "We were being seduced. No, we allowed ourselves, I allowed myself to be seduced" (44). (8) Oskar's relationship with the phenomenon of childhood innocence is a complex one. His decision not to grow when he is three years old is a reaction to the nefarious adult world of which he does not want to become a part and is thus an attempt to preserve his innocence. Yet despite having the appearance of a three-year-old, he does not remain innocent and shares the typical duality of the Piper as vargr, of being marginalized and persecuted on the one hand and becoming a tyrant on the other. Similarly to Raabe's Kiza who is first tortured and then turns tyrannical, Oskar is both a potential victim of Nazi persecution and capable of great mischief and evil. He is responsible for the deaths of several people within his family, is running with the wolves by becoming an accomplice of the Nazis, and becomes the leader of a gang of youth, the so-called Dusters, a band of juvenile delinquents who desecrate churches. The latter detail evokes the meaning of vargr as "a wolf in holy places," but also the Old Germanic koryos consisting of dispossessed youth of free birth who lead an unrestrained life full of hunting, robbery, sexual liberty, and warfare on the margins of society (McCone 114).

A wolf in holy places, Oskar repeatedly commits profanities in churches. His satanic nature also reveals itself in a key chapter (entitled "The Rostrum" in Ralph Mannheim's translation and "The Grandstand" in Breon Mitchell's more recent translation), where his drumming disrupts the marching music during a Nazi Party rally. Here he sits in the very spot that the devil used to occupy in the medieval mystery play, that is, under the stage. From here he drums his own rhythm, confusing the band of drummers above and finally managing to turn their marching music into a waltz and making everyone dance to his own fashion. In what is one of the most memorable scenes in Volker Schlondorff's 1979 film adaptation, Die Blechtrommel, one political piper/drummer is thus outwitted by another, one devil dethroned by another. Grass cleverly aligns the sinister political scenario with the picaresque tradition and an array of medieval images, the piper/drummer as Satan being the foremost one. As a candidate for euthanasia, Oskar is a potential victim of a programmatic abduction undertaken by National Socialism, but as a drummer, like Hitler, he is also capable of leading the Wild Hunt, la chasse Arlequin.

Oskar's capacity to lead the Wild Hunt, that cavalcade of the dead, evokes the image of the traditional Piper leading youth to a subterranean realm of eros and thanatos. The cortege into the mountain entails the disappearance of the Piper himself together with youth, a transgressive youth in Raabe's version, where they fall victim to the Dionysian charm of the Piper. Their disappearance is expressive of a bourgeois wish projection, of repression of sensuality and the animal instinct. Nuda vita in its threatening alterity of racial difference and sexual openness is thus banished into a realm of concealment, of forgetting, possibly of destruction. There is an ambivalence of joy and suffering that is inscribed into the motif of youth disappearing into the mountain. It is in part the traditional Venus Mountain, Browning's land of joy, evoking a Dionysian state of intoxication and carefreeness, but this terrain also resembles the Greek notion of lethe. While lethe in Greek myth was the field of forgetting, concealment, and death, surfacing from it entails what the Greek called aletheia, a surfacing from the Dionysian state of inebriation. Both lethe and aletheia are closely tied to topos, to place. A field in Hades, lethe, I would argue, is closely associated with other terrains in the state of nature and with the idea of abandonment as a complete absence of Schonung in these terrains: the woods, the river, and the mountain landscape. And yet, according to Heidegger reading Parmenides, Aletheia implies "a keeping and preserving" (Heidegger, Parmenides 130), as it can be found in the city with its social contract and human rights.

In the Greek world the carefreeness that was associated with lethe cannot only be seen in the mountain wilderness but was also closely tied to a river in the middle of the field of lethe, named amelys [carefree] (Heidegger, Parmenides 119). Amelys is the river "Carefree" in the sense of a loss of worry due to forgetting reality, but in the context of abandonment, of being forgotten, and of destruction there is also the implication of a loss of care as Schonung. In medieval biopolitics such loss of care is experienced, for example, by the insane being shipped down the river on the stultifera navis. Applied to the Pied Piper legend, this river of forgetting and carefreeness is the Weser in which, enchanted by the Piper's music, the rats drown in happy lethargy (note the etymological connection between lethe and lethargy): "save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, swam across and lived to carry to Rat-Land home his commentary" (Browning 106). In the replication of this scene in Browning's poem, this surfacing from lethe, from blissful forgetting of all suffering and hardship, then happens again to the small lame boy who is too slow to follow the Piper into the mountain:
   The music stopped and I stood still,
   And found myself outside the hill,
   Left alone against my will,
   To go now limping as before,
   And never hear of that country more!
   (Browning 109)

Uncannily, these contextualizations of Foucaultian biopolitics in view of the river of forgetting, the multitude of rats and children condemned to oblivion, and the motifs of sole survival and giving testimony point forward to the Nazi crimes, the association of the Jews with the outsiders of the community, with rats, and the condemnation of millions to abandonment and destruction in Nazi Germany's very own terrain of lethe, the camps.

As indicated by the Greek a-privative, a-letheia is literally the withdrawal from the carefreeness of lethe and thus implies the presence of quotidian worries but also of the Schonung that comes from peaceful dwelling. The danger of Dionysian excess is clearly voiced in Raabe's novella, where the intoxication of youth through the Slavic Kiza, the wild dance he engages them in, leaves Hamelin vulnerable to an attack from the town of Minden: "Bacchantisch fing die Meute an zu rasen; es war, als wurde sie von dem wunderlichen epidemischen Wahnsinn des Mittelalters, dem Veitstanze, gepackt, und der Feind hatte recht leichtes Spiel gehabt, wenn er jetzt der Stadt im Sturme zugesetzt hatte" [the crowd's frenzy grew; it was as if it had been seized by the medieval Saint Vitus Dance and the enemy would have had an easy time taking the city by storm] (148). By allowing the Piper into the community partially, Raabe's version in particular reflects this figure's destructive potential. Brecht later ironizes this situation in that the starry-eyed Piper misses the mountain and accidentally leads the children back into town, where he is hanged in the marketplace. This ironic twist implies Brecht's wishful thinking concerning the end of the Third Reich as well as the end of Hitler in 1938. Brecht clearly fears that the Germans, as the seduced children of the Piper, may not wake up themselves and that only a miracle can lead from the realm of lethe, into aletheia, onto the path of reason and renewed humanity.

Applied to the Nazi context in Grass's work, too, the Germans are transfixed by Hitler as Piper and, given the promise of a "joyous land" (the vision of the Thousand Year Reich) free of pain and hardship, are no longer able to see reality. Their political lethargy then leads to a different kind of lethargy: the repression of guilt after the war, of which Oskar Matzerath's hump that he grows as the war ends is a key symbol. It is this hump that marks his liminality between the human and the creaturely, if one argues that the hybridity of the monster depends on an opening of the contours of the body. Especially in the context of the racist crimes of the twentieth century, the burden of history seems to make him evolve into an incarnation of Walter Benjamin's bucklicht Mannlein, the hunchback. Benjamin used this metaphor of the little hunchback throughout his work, and Hannah Arendt even suggests that Benjamin's whole life could be placed under the sign of the hunchback dwarf. She contends that, just before his death in 1940, Benjamin stated that the little hunchback had terrified him in his early childhood and then accompanied him all through his life (6). Benjamin was familiar with this fairy-tale figure from Des Knaben Wunderhorn, the famous nineteenthcentury anthology of German folk poems collected by Achim von Arnim and Clemens Brentano, particularly from Brentano's folk rhyme "Liebes Kindlein, ach ich bitt, Bet furs bucklicht Mannlein mit" [My dear child, I beg of you, pray for the little hunchback too] (Benjamin, 134). In his fascinating study of Benjamin's hunchback, Irving Wohlfahrt argues that Brentano's "plea for inclusion implicitly becomes that of all the excluded" (60). Yet Benjamin was thinking primarily of the plight of Jews under German fascism when he wrote of the hunchback, a figure that has all the characteristics of marginalized tricksters such as the Pied Piper, who creates disorder, upsets the order of bourgeois society, and takes cruel revenge on the tyranny of those in power. As a hunchback in the Benjaminian sense, the drumming, screaming, and piping of the deformed Oskar, although not Jewish, ultimately has the function of reminding us of the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust. Oskar is emblematic of all those excluded by Nazi racist thinking. The hump he grows at the end of the Second World War signifies the burden of history as well as the weight of Nazi crimes upon his shoulders, as does the image of Abel Tiffauges in the role of Saint Christopher carrying Ephraim, the surviving Jewish child, to safety across the glacial swamps of Eastern Poland.

In order to rid himself and his fellow countrymen of some of this historical weight, Oskar adopts the role of Piper and leads the Germans to the Devil's Gulch, where they wet their pants like infants. This abject image of corrupted adults aspiring to childhood innocence is of course highly ironic, but nevertheless, it expresses that very bourgeois wish for the disappearance of sinfulness that we see in other versions of the Piper legend such as Raabe's. Grass's motif of the procession going to the Devil's Gulch reveals the desire of the German nation in the post-war years of banishing the sins of the past into the realm of lethe. Moreover, I would argue that a derivative of the Venus Mountain also occurs in Grass's The Tin Drum, in the image of the grandmother's wide skirts under which men hide, paying tribute to the pleasure principle but also taking refuge from everyday reality. These skirts offer a bizarre interpretation of Agamben's state of nature, the state of exception, in that these men's desire to return to the uterus of the great mother archetype implies political life reverting to nuda vita, the adult's return to the infant stage.

The traditional Piper undergoes a transformation from victim to oppressor, thus embodying the two meanings of the vargr. While Raabe's Piper turns from a hounded victim of racism into a despotic demagogue, Oskar Matzerath is transformed from a potential euthanasia victim and satanic drummer into a benevolent leader who contributes to the catharsis of Germans working through their war crimes. In the course of this progressive insanity he ends up comparing himself to Jesus. This ironic reformation of the Piper figure in the context of war, Nazi crimes, and the restitution of innocence also occurs in Michel Tournier's Le Roi des aulnes, translated into English as The Ogre.

When the protagonist Abel Tiffauges is imprisoned by the Nazis in a POW camp in Eastern Europe, he discovers his great love for the Nazi cause, first at Hermann Goering's Rominten Forest Reserve and then at the Castle of Kaltenborn. A giant of a man who snatches children from their parents, Abel is a mythological hybrid uniting in himself the Piper, the fairy-tale ogre, and the Erlking. As central subtexts the novel explicitly mentions Charles Perrault's Le Petit Poucet and Goethe's poem "Der Erlkonig," thus blending the French fairy-tale tradition with Germanic literature and myth. Abel's job is to abduct boys of a suitable age and superior race so that they can be turned into soldiers at the Castle of Kaltenborn, a paramilitary school that prepares the Jungmannen for the war on the Eastern front: "every year the German people give [Hitler] a whole generation of children as a birthday present ... the exhaustive gift of five hundred thousand little girls and five hundred thousand little boys, ten years old, dressed for the sacrifice, or in other words naked, out of whose flesh he kneaded his cannon fodder" (236). The parents' fear of him is reflected in a pamphlet posted throughout the land:

   He is after your children. He roves through our country stealing
   children. If you have any, never forget the Ogre--he never forgets
   them! Don't let them go out alone. Teach them to
   run away and hide if they see a giant on a blue
   horse with a pack of black hounds. If he comes to
   see you, don't yield to his threats, don't be taken in
   by his promises. All mothers should be guided by
   one certainty: If the Ogre takes your child, you will
   NEVER see him again! (294)

The Erlking is a relative of the Pied Piper and his abduction of children is of course the central motif in Goethe's famous poem, in which a child is snatched away from his father riding through the night. As a nightly spirit, the Erlking is traditionally associated with the Wild Hunt, and the Pied Piper's abduction of children is a motif that stems from this ancient folk belief (Douglas 90). While steeped in myth, Tournier's novel also has a sinister background in French history, one that in turn emerged into folk culture, above all in the form of the Bluebeard myth. Especially the name Tiffauges, Abel's horse Barbe Bleue, and Abel's voracious appetite for children allude to the mid-fifteenth-century Marechal Gilles de Retz, who was associated with the disappearance and murder of hundreds of children from Southern French villages, such as Tiffauges. We can see here how a historical figure like de Retz turns into popular folk tale before finding entry into fiction. Tournier uses several details from the story of Gilles de Retz: in the trial, de Retz answers that he knows nothing of the disappearance of the children, arguing that he is not their keeper, echoing Cain's words about his brother Abel. De Retz allegedly also bathed in the blood of his victims, which reminds us of Abel Tiffauges sleeping on a mattress made of the hair of the shorn Jungmannen before emptying its content into a fish pool and swimming in it. The idea of recruitment associated with the Piper legend also appears in connection with the disappearance of children in France, the notion that some of the children were "made over to the English" (Baring-Gould 144). Oddly enough, in the case of de Retz, a certain Guillaume Hamelin lamented the loss of two children, a strange, uncanny coincidence between de Retz, the child murderer, and the Pied Piper of Hamelin. That the Blue Beard tale may have its roots in the figure of de Retz could stem from the fact that during the trial, it was observed that in a certain light his beard assumed a blue hue, so that the Sire de Retz obtained the surname Blue Beard (Baring-Gould 151). Apparently also, his servant Henriette collected children for him and was present while he massacred them in a special room at Machecoul before bathing in their blood. De Retz's designation of one room to the massacre also corresponds to Bluebeard's chamber, the one room in which Bluebeard keeps all his dead wives hidden, Bluebeard's personal realm of lethe.

Moreover, Tournier's duplicitous Abel is an apt embodiment of the Agambian wolf man, who appears in a number of guises in the novel. He makes a first appearance at the moment when, in his childhood, Abel reads and dreams about the wide expanses of Northern Canada:
   The hero of the story was Bram, a huge wild halfbreed, part
   English, part Indian, part Eskimo, who wandered alone over terrible
   icy wastes drawn by a team of wolves. And to say he howled like a
   wolf was not just a figure of speech.

      "'He had suddenly thrown back his great head, sending up a
   cavernous roar from his throat and chest,'" Nestor would recite.
   "'At first it was like a peal of thunder, but it ended in a sharp
   plaintive wail that could be heard for several miles across the
   level plain. It was the call of the leader to the pack; of the
   animal-man to his brothers. ...'" (35-36; emphasis in original)

Abel himself is described as a monster (3) with picaresque traits such as his "putative parents" (4). His Jewish wife Rachel, who comments on his precocious ejaculations, is the first one to call him an ogre: "You're not a lover, you're an ogre" (9). His status as a creature with mythological proportions that make him blend in easily with the Nazi world is underpinned by his timelessness, his escape of the "measure of time" (19). With the trickster and countless literary characters derived from that archetype, such as Jekyll and Hyde, he shares the duplicity between good and evil, human and animal, saint and satanic: "There is someone inside me. ... I have another self, the viscous self" (21). That viscous self is close to the beastly. Abel has an immediate entente cordiale with a blind moose he encounters outside of the prison camp, an animal likewise described as a monster, a sorcerer, a devil (182), with an enormous head and donkey ears (177), features that align it with the grotesque features of the carnival world steeped in myth and filled with animal instincts. Abel's own animality reveals itself also in his love of meat (66), which makes us associate him with Levi-Strauss's distinction between the raw of myth and the cooked of culture, and with Bakhtin's carnival creatures, all meat eaters with voracious appetites on the side of carnivorous animals rather than humans. Abel loves animals, loves to kill them for their meat, and eats them with a loving appetite, thus partaking of the natural laws of the animal world, in which there exists no cruelty, just hunting and being hunted, devouring and being devoured. He is a cannibal who loves the raw meat of kids; figuratively, he loves the innocence of kids, whom he photographs in secret. His grotesque body is deeply connected to this love of raw meat. It turns him into an ogre, as five pounds of raw meat and gallons of milk a day shape his Gargantuan physique (68). Moreover, Abel is an Agambian wolf man in the double sense of being, on the one hand, expelled from the French community, imprisoned by the Nazis, and then roaming the Eastern Prussian wilds as Bram, his fictional model, does in Northern Canada. On the other hand, he is a wolf man due to his proximity to the sovereign, be it Hitler, whose ideology he supports unknowingly, or that other ogre of slightly lower rank, Hermann Goering.

Among the many motifs Tournier derives from popular French myths and legends, his novel plays in particular with the motif of the Wild Hunt, which we have also seen in Raabe and Grass. It occurs quite literally as the wild hunt of animals that goes on at Goering's Forest Reserve Rominten. Goering is the Master of the Hunt at his Rominten Forest Reserve. He is the tyrant as wolf man and like Abel in that zone of indistinction between the animal and the human. Goering is also a carnivore, even more so, it seems, than the lions he keeps. This proximity with regard to their animality between the persecutor/sovereign and persecuted/expellee/prisoner of war reveals Abel's naivete in view of the Nazi crimes he secretly supports. Abel loves being turned into an animal by the Nazis, he loves being showered, he loves being deloused and stripped of his clothes by the Nazis. He celebrates his nudity, height, and masculinity, all sex and hair (160), a moment that reveals the perfidious relationship between the Nazis' racial ideology and their camp practices. It also emphasizes Abel's secret complicity with the Nazis at such an early stage and truly makes him an ogre, a wolf man in the sense of inhabiting a border zone between the human and the animal. The moment of Abel's nudity as a prisoner of war is a fictional rendering of Agamben's nuda vita, which specifically denotes the reduction of Jewish camp inmates to "lice." Paradoxically, Abel enjoys his imprisonment in a POW camp in the midst of the vast spaces of Eastern Poland, which give him "a feeling of freedom" (162), paradoxically because as a prisoner in a camp he occupies a place allocated for the twentieth-century Friedlos, that is, those with the least amount of peace and freedom. By joining the Nazis, however, he descends into a mythological underworld that is the natural terrain for tricksters and ogres. The word ogre is an etymologically contested word. It may have referred to the word Hungarian, the Etruscan augur, the morpheme garg as in Gargantua, or the Latin orcus, the realm of the dead. Abel is a wolf man in the sense of becoming a tyrannical wolf to others, especially as he abducts children, an act he does not see as political but as fantastic, and which in the end is attributable to his pedophilia. Myth and sexuality are closely connected in Abel's abduction of children, which initially, while still in Paris, he does by capturing them with his camera (109).

Abel's most sinister side reveals itself primarily in the Erlking, however, that evil spirit of the night and harbinger of the realm of the dead in Germanic mythology. The Wild Hunt motif shows itself especially in the hunt for children Abel undertakes in the service of the Castle of Kaltenborn. In that sense, the Castle of Kaltenborn can be read as a sort of Venus Mountain for Abel, who experiences extreme pleasure in this place in which time is not linear but circular, and where history seems to be suspended. The Greek lethe reappears here in the sense of a realm of forgetting and destruction. In Kaltenborn, the children forget their origins as they become brainwashed for the Nazi cause and are prepared to die at the front.

Tournier and Grass are connected in the ways in which they bring together folklore and history, the folklore motif of the abduction of children and Nazi eugenics. At the Kaltenborn Raciological Center, Commander Professor Doctor Otto Blaettchen continuously searches "among the children they bring [him] for the grain of gold dust that justifies selective reproduction" (250). Here is yet another ogre, one whose olfactory sense is so refined (Perrault's ogre sniffs about him, "saying that he could smell human flesh" [193]) that he can distinguish between races by their individual smell, "black, yellow, Semitic and Nordic with his eyes shut, just by the fatty volatile acids and alkalis secreted by their sudoriferous and sebaceous glands" (252). Still unaware of the horrible consequences of the Nazis' concern with eugenics, Abel expresses his fascination with these ideas, shares with the likes of Mengele a special attraction for twins, and eagerly partakes in a painstaking examination of their bodies, their "brachycephalic skulls, wide faces with prominent cheekbones, pointed ears, flat noses, widely spaced teeth, green rather slit eyes" (287), and so forth. This close scrutiny of the twins' body parts in the laboratory, the clinical gaze, dismembers them.

Yet Abel is a loving Piper. Everything he does during his career as an ogre he does out of a deep love for children. He is not aware of his sinister work but carries it out with extreme joy, and in his act of carrying away children he even compares himself with Saint Christopher carrying Jesus across the river. The word ogre is therefore ambivalent in that like the old blind moose that he encounters in the Polish forest, he sees himself as a gentle giant, a saintly figure, until he learns the true dimensions of his crimes and experiences the horror of his contribution to Nazism. It could be argued that Abel's realization of the extent of his crimes is already implied in the fact that as cynocephalus, a dog-headed person, Saint Christopher qualifies as a Foucaultian monster and is close to the hybridity displayed by the wolf man. This monstrosity, especially in Eastern Orthodox representations of Saint Christopher, is a reminder that initially Christopher served the Devil and not Jesus. As mentioned earlier, among the Anglo-Saxons an utlagh, an outlaw, was said to have the head of a wolf, so that there are definite parallels in folk belief between the devil-worshipping dog man and the medieval vargr.

Abel Tiffauges's conversion from ogre to saint happens when he meets the little Jewish boy Ephraim who has survived Auschwitz. At this point, Abel's dream world is suddenly shattered, especially as he realizes the horrible ambiguity of the word "Canada." While Abel's life in the Eastern European forests surrounded by the boys of Kaltenborn had been the realization of a childhood dream about the cold expanses of the Canadian north, "Canada," as Ephraim tells him, was also the name for the treasure house in Auschwitz in which were stored the possessions of the dead: "Tiffauges couldn't accept without a murmur this horrible metamorphosis of all that had been for him most intimate and happy" (354). This is the ambivalence of carnival with its figures, the clown, fool, and harlequin, who stand for joy but also have a foot in hell, the ambivalence of the Dionysian state of intoxication in the Venus Mountain that is ruled by lethe, a concealment of reality behind the lethargy of intoxication, but also aletheia, the deeper insight into the pleasures of the world from which there can be only a rude awakening. All of a sudden, Abel sees "an infernal city remorselessly building up which corresponded stone by stone to the phoric city he himself had dreamed of at Kaltenborn" (357). He realizes that he shared his fascination for twins with Mengele and understands that while he was euphorically stuffing his mattress with boys' hair, this was indeed a reflection of the grim reality in the death camps where the hair of the victims was recycled for various purposes.

The Piper thus becomes a central actor in the course of history and in the context of war and ideology in Raabe, Grass, and Tournier. Children and youth in these three stories are figures of the burden of history: Raabe's youth recruited for civil war, Oskar, the boy who does not grow and represents both ugliness of fascism and its abducted innocents, and Tournier's Jungmannen, the cannon fodder on the Eastern front. As these pages have shown, in line with the wolf man as victim and tyrant, the Pied Piper reappears in its literary adaptations of the legend of the Pied Piper. In varying ways we see him as a corruptor and destroyer of the innocence of children and adolescents. He vacillates between being a target of racism and a recruiter for a racist ideology. While Raabe's version places the Piper's abduction of Hamelin's young into the context of racism of Germans toward Slavs, Tournier's Piper/Erlking recruits children in the service of racism and the final days of the war. These literary pipers undergo a transformation, however. In Raabe's story, Kiza metamorphoses from a beast to a tyrant, the two polarities of the medieval vargr thus being inscribed into one character. Grass's treatment of Oskar Matzerath as piper/drummer is highly ironic as the multi-faceted Oskar changes from a potential euthanasia victim to a recruiter of youth for nefarious purposes (the Duster gang), and then after the war recruits adults eager to regain their innocence and ends up comparing himself to the saviour Jesus Christ. This is a radical comment no doubt on all the false professions of innocence in Germany after the war. This attempted retrieval of innocence is treated ironically, if not sarcastically, in postmodern texts. The political naivete of the recruiter Abel Tiffauges ultimately subsides in his reformation into Saint Christopher through the very innocence of a surviving child. Although this act liberates him from the permanent state of war under which he operates when collecting innocent children for the Eastern front, his reformation from a piper who abducts the innocent to a saint who protects them can be read as an ironic comment on professions of innocence by French collaborateurs in the aftermath of the Second World War.


(1) I mean "creaturely" in the sense of animal rather than human, the way Rilke understands this term in his Duino elegies where he places the creature in opposition to human. For more detail, see Heidegger, Parmenides 152-55.

(2) The Bannmeile was traditionally the area on the outskirts of cities from which traders were banned; in French this is retained in the term banlieue.

(3) In his 1951 essay on the paucity of housing after the Second World War, Heidegger discusses the term of contentment in relation to dwelling, freedom, and peace, an argument that is significant for the racist treatment of Kiza. Heidegger derives the German wohnen etymologically from the Gothic word wunian (Vortrage 150-51).

(4) According to Robert Eisler, "notably the 'Wild Boy of Hamelin' [was] found in 1724 and exhibited in London at the age of twelve under the taxonomic name Iuvenis Hannoveranus and ridiculed by Jonathan Swift--quite wrongly--as a fake" (139).

(5) "The Wild Hunt was a nightly cavalcade of the dead, led through the forests by some mythical figure riding a horse, sometimes Wotan or Odin, in which case wolves would naturally run beside him, or more often a female figure, Perchta, Bertha or Berta, the bright one, or her male equivalent, Berthold, Herlechin (connection harlequin), or Herle" (Douglas 90).

(6) See Agamben's discussion of this figure in Remnants 41-86.

(7) Unless otherwise noted, all quotations from Grass's The Rat are from Ralph Manheim's translation of the text.

(8) As for the seduction theory, see also Huyssen. This theory of the Germans being seduced by Hitler was then disseminated widely outside of Germany, largely owing to Daniel J. Goldhagen and his assertion in the mid-1990s that the majority of Germans during the Third Reich were Hitler's "willing executioners."

Works Cited

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--. Remnants of Auschwitz: The Witness and the Archive. New York: Zone, 2002. Print.

Arendt, Hannah. Introduction. Illuminations. By Walter Benjamin. Ed. Hannah Arendt. New York: Schocken, 1968. 1-55. Print.

Baring-Gould, Sabine. The Book of Werewolves. 1865. Dublin: Nonsuch, 2007. Print.

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Browning, Robert. Robert Browning's Poetry. Ed. James F. Loucks and Andrew M. Stauffer. New York: Norton, 2007. Print.

Chatwin, Bruce. The Songlines. London: Penguin, 1988. Print.

Czapla, Ralf Georg. "Der Rattenfanger unter dem Regenbogen." Fabula 39.1-2 (1998): 1-20. Print.

Donalson, Malcolm Drew. The History of the Wolf in Western Civilization: From Antiquity to the Middle Ages. Lewiston: Mellen, 2006. Print.

Douglas, Adam. The Beast Within: Man, Myths and Werewolves. London: Orion, 1993. Print.

Eisler, Robert. Man into Wolf: An Anthropological Interpretation of Sadism, Masochism and Lycanthropy. New York: Greenwood, 1951. Print.

Foucault, Michel. Abnormal: Lectures at the College de France 1974-1975. London: Verso, 2003. Print.

--. Madness and Civilization. Trans. Richard Howard. New York: Random, 1988. Print.

Goldhagen, Daniel J. Hitler's Willing Executioners: Ordinary Germans and the Holocaust. New York: Knopf, 1996. Print.

Grass, Gunter. Peeling the Onion. London: Secker, 2007. Print. Die Rattin. Gottingen: Steidl Verlag, 1997. Print.

--. The Rat. Trans. Ralph Manheim. New York: Harcourt, 1987. Print.

--. The Tin Drum. Trans. Ralph Manheim. New York: Vintage, 1990. Print.

--. The Tin Drum. Trans. Breon Mitchell. London: Harvill Secker, 2009. Print.

Heidegger, Martin. Parmenides. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1992. Print.

--. Vortrage und Aufsatze. Frankfurt: Vittorio Klostermann, 2000. Print. Huyssen, Andreas. "Monumental Seduction." New German Critique 69 (1996): 181-200. Print.

Liebs, Elke. Kindheit und Tod: Der Rattenfanger-Mythos als Beitrag zu einer Kulturgeschichte der Kindheit. Munich: Fink, 1986. Print.

McCone, Kim R. "Hund, Wolf und Krieger bei den Indogermanen." Studien zum Indogermanischen Wortschatz. Ed. Wolfgang Meid. Innsbruck: U of Innsbruck P, 1987. 101-54. Print.

Orchard, Andy. Dictionary of Norse Myth and Legend. London: Cassell, 1997. Print.

Raabe, Wilhelm. Samtliche Werke. Vol. 9.1. Vandenhoeck: Gottingen, 1974. Print.

Rose, Jacqueline. The Case of Peter Pan, or the Impossibility of Children's Fiction. London: Macmillan, 1994. Print.

Schlondorff, Volker, dir. Die Blechtrommel. Argos Films, 1979. Film.

Spanuth, Heinrich. Der Rattenfanger von Hameln: Vom Werden und Sinn einer alten Sage. Hameln: Niemeyer, 1951. Print.

Tournier, Michel. The Ogre. Trans. Barbara Bray. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1997. Print.

--. Le Roi des aulnes. Paris: Gallimard, 1970. Print. Wohlfahrt, Irving. "Manner aus der Fremde: Walter Benjamin and the German-Jewish Parnassus." New German Critique 70 (1997): 3-85. Print.

Wunderlich, Werner. "The Pied Piper of Hamelin in History and Literature." Michigan Germanic Studies 19.1 (1993): 1-17. Print.

Peter Arnds is the Director of Comparative Literature and the Centre of Literary Translation at Trinity College Dublin. He previously taught at Kansas State University, Colby College, Middlebury College, the University of Kabul, and JNU Delhi. He is the author of Representation, Subversion, and Eugenics in Gunter Grass's The Tin Drum (Camden House, 2004) and Wilhelm Raabe's Der Hungerpastor and Charles Dickens's David Copperfield: Intertextuality of Two Bildungsromane (Peter Lang, 1997). He is currently working on a literary history of the wolf.
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Publication:Jeunesse: Young People, Texts, Cultures
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Date:Jun 22, 2012
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