The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 04

One day he came upon a crystal spring and a bevy of flowers that were going down to a valley between black columns reaching to the sky. With familiar words they greeted him kindly. "My dear countrymen," he said, "pray, where am I to find the sacred abode of Isis? It must be somewhere in this vicinity, and you are probably better acquainted here than I." "We, too, are only passing through this region," the flowers answered; "a family of spirits is traveling and we are making ready the road and preparing lodgings for them; but we came through a region lately where we heard her name called. Just walk upward in the direction from which we are coming and you will be sure to learn more." The flowers and the spring smiled as they said this, offered him a drink of fresh water, and went on.

Hyacinth followed their advice, asked and asked, and finally reached that long-sought dwelling concealed behind palms and other choice plants. His heart beat with infinite longing and the most delicious yearning thrilled him in this abode of the eternal seasons. Amid heavenly fragrance he fell into slumber, since naught but dreams might lead him to the most sacred place. To the tune of charming melodies and in changing harmonies did his dream guide him mysteriously through endless apartments filled with curious things. Everything seemed so familiar to him and yet amid a splendor that he had never seen; then even the last tinge of earthliness vanished as though dissipated in the air, and he stood before the celestial virgin. He lifted the filmy, shimmering veil and Roseblossom fell into his arms. From afar a strain of music accompanied the mystery of the loving reunion, the outpourings of their longing, and excluded all that was alien from this delightful spot. After that Hyacinth lived many years with Roseblossom near his happy parents and comrades, and innumerable grandchildren thanked the mysterious old woman for her advice and her fire; for at that time people got as many children as they wanted.

APHORISMS33

By NOVALIS

TRANSLATED BY FREDERIC H. HEDGE

Where no gods are, spectres rule.

The best thing that the French achieved by their Revolution, was a portion of Germanity.

Germanity is genuine popularity, and therefore an ideal.

Where children are, there is the golden age.

Spirit is now active here and there: when will Spirit be active in the whole? When will mankind, in the mass, begin to consider?

Nature is pure Past, foregone freedom; and therefore, throughout, the soil of history.

The antithesis of body and spirit is one of the most remarkable and dangerous of all antitheses. It has played an important part in history.

Only by comparing ourselves, as men, with other rational beings, could we know what we truly are, what position we occupy.

The history of Christ is as surely poetry as it is history. And, in general, only that history is history which might also be fable.

The Bible begins gloriously with Paradise, the symbol of youth, and ends with the everlasting kingdom, with the holy city. The history of every man should be a Bible.

Prayer is to religion what thinking is to philosophy. To pray is to make religion.

The more sinful man feels himself, the more Christian he is.

Christianity is opposed to science, to art, to enjoyment in the proper sense.

It goes forth from the common man. It inspires the great majority of the limited on earth.

It is the germ of all democracy, the highest fact in the domain of the popular.

Light is the symbol of genuine self-possession. Therefore light, according to analogy, is the action of the self-contact of matter. Accordingly, day is the consciousness of the planet, and while the sun, like a god, in eternal self-action, inspires the centre, one planet after another closes one eye for a longer or shorter time, and with cool sleep refreshes itself for new life and contemplation. Accordingly, here, too, there is religion. For is the life of the planets aught else but sun-worship?

The Holy Ghost is more than the Bible. This should be our teacher of religion, not the dead, earthly, equivocal letter.

All faith is miraculous, and worketh miracles.

Sin is indeed the real evil in the world. All calamity proceeds from that. He who understands sin, understands virtue and Christianity, himself and the world.

The greatest of miracles is a virtuous act.

If a man could suddenly believe, in sincerity, that he was moral, he would be so.

We need not fear to admit that man has a preponderating tendency to evil. So much the better is he by nature, for only the unlike attracts.

Everything distinguished (peculiar) deserves ostracism. Well for it if it ostracizes itself. Everything absolute must quit the world.

A time will come, and that soon, when all men will be convinced that there can be no king without a republic, and no republic without a king; that both are as inseparable as body and soul. The true king will be a republic, the true republic a king.

In cheerful souls there is no wit. Wit shows a disturbance of the equipoise.

Most people know not how interesting they are, what interesting things they really utter. A true representation of themselves, a record and estimate of their sayings, would make them astonished at themselves, would help them to discover in themselves an entirely new world.

Man is the Messiah of Nature.

The soul is the most powerful of all poisons. It is the most penetrating and diffusible stimulus.

Every sickness is a musical problem; the cure is the musical solution.

Inoculation with death, also, will not be wanting in some future universal therapy.

The idea of a perfect health is interesting only in a scientific point of view. Sickness is necessary to individualization.

If God could be man, he can also be stone, plant, animal, element, and perhaps, in this way, there is a continuous redemption in Nature.

Life is a disease of the spirit, a passionate activity. Rest is the peculiar property of the spirit. From the spirit comes gravitation.

As nothing can be free, so, too, nothing can be forced, but spirit.

A space-filling individual is a body; a time-filling individual is a soul.

It should be inquired whether Nature has not essentially changed with the progress of culture.

All activity ceases when knowledge comes. The state of knowing is eudæmonism, blest repose of contemplation, heavenly quietism.

Miracles, as contradictions of Nature, are amathematical. But there are no miracles in this sense. What we so term, is intelligible precisely by means of mathematics; for nothing is miraculous to mathematics.

In music, mathematics appears formally, as revelation, as creative idealism. All enjoyment is musical, consequently mathematical. The highest life is mathematics.

There may be mathematicians of the first magnitude who cannot cipher.

One can be a great cipherer without a conception of mathematics.

Instinct is genius in Paradise, before the period of self-abstraction (self-recognition).

The fate which oppresses us is the sluggishness of our spirit. By enlargement and cultivation of our activity, we change ourselves into fate. Everything appears to stream in upon us, because we do not stream out. We are negative, because we choose to be so; the more positive we become, the more negative will the world around us be, until, at last, there is no more negative, and we are all in all. God wills gods.

All power appears only in transition. Permanent power is stuff.

Every act of introversion—every glance into our interior—is at the same time ascension, going up to heaven, a glance at the veritable outward.

Only so far as a man is happily married to himself, is he fit for married life and family life, generally.

One must never confess that one loves one's self. The secret of this confession is the life-principle of the only true and eternal love.

We conceive God as personal, just as we conceive ourselves personal.

God is just as personal and as individual as we are; for what we call I is not our true I, but only its off glance.

HYMN TO NIGHT (1800)

By NOVALIS

TRANSLATED BY PAUL B. THOMAS

Who, that hath life and the gift of perception, loves not more than all the marvels seen far and wide in the space about him Light, the all-gladdening, with its colors, with its beams and its waves, its mild omnipresence as the arousing day? The giant world of restless stars breathes it, as were it the innermost soul of life, and lightly floats in its azure flood; the stone breathes it, sparkling and ever at rest, and the dreamy, drinking plant, and the savage, ardent, manifold-fashioned beast; but above all the glorious stranger with the thoughtful eyes, the airy step, and the lightly-closed, melodious lips. Like a king of terrestrial nature it calls every power to countless transformations, it forms and dissolves innumerable alliances and surrounds every earthly creature with its heavenly effulgence. Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the realms of the world.

Downward I turn my eyes to Night, the holy, ineffable, mysterious. Far below lies the world, sunk in a deep vault; void and lonely is its place. Deep melancholy is wafted through the chords of the breast. In drops of dew I'd fain sink down and mingle with the ashes. Far-off memories, desires of youth, dreams of childhood, long life's brief joys and vain hopes appear in gray garments like the evening mist after sunset. Light has pitched its gay tents in other regions. Will it perchance never return to its children, who are waiting for it with the faith of innocence?

What is it that suddenly wells up so forebodingly from beneath the heart and smothers the gentle breath of melancholy? Dark Night, dost thou also take pleasure in us? What hast thou beneath thy mantle which touches my soul with invisible force? Precious balsam drops from the bunch of poppies in thy hand. Thou raisest up the heavy wings of the soul; vaguely and inexpressibly we feel ourselves moved. Joyously fearful, I see an earnest face, which gently and reverently bends over me, and amid endlessly entangled locks shows the sweet youth of the mother. How poor and childish does Light seem to me now! How joyful and blessed the departure of day! Only for that reason, then, because Night turns thy servants from thee, didst thou scatter in the wide expanse of space the shining stars, to make known thine omnipotence and thy return, during the periods of thine absence? More heavenly than those twinkling stars seem to us the everlasting eyes which Night has opened within us. Farther they see than the palest of those numberless hosts; not needing light, they fathom the depths of a loving heart, filling a higher space with unspeakable delight.

Praise be to the queen of the world, to the high harbinger of holy worlds, to the fostress of blissful love! She sends thee to me, gentle sweetheart, lovely sun of the night. Now I am awake, for I am thine and mine; thou hast proclaimed to me that night is life and made a man of me. Consume my body with spiritual fire, that I may ethereally blend with thee, and then the bridal night may last forever.

"THOUGH NONE THY NAME SHOULD CHERISH"34

  Though none Thy Name should cherish,    My faith shall be the same,  Lest gratitude should perish    And earth be brought to shame.  With meekness Thou did'st suffer    The pangs of death for me,  With joy then I would offer    This heart for aye to Thee.  I weep with strong emotion    That death has been Thy lot,  And yet that Thy devotion    Thy people have forgot.  The blessings of salvation    Thy perfect love has won,  Yet who in any nation    Regards what Thou hast done 3  With love Thou hast protected    Each man his whole life through;  Though all Thy care rejected,    No less would'st Thou be true.  Such love as Thine must vanquish    The proudest soul at last,  'Twill turn to Thee in anguish    And to Thy knees cling fast.  Thine influence hath bound me;    Oh, if it be Thy will,  Be evermore around me,    Be present with me still!  At length too shall the others    Look up and long for rest,  And all my loving brothers    Shall sink upon Thy breast.

TO THE VIRGIN35

  A thousand hands, devoutly tender,    Have sought thy beauty to express,  But none, oh Mary, none can render,    As my soul sees, thy loveliness.  I gaze till earth's confusion fadeth    Like to a dream, and leaves behind  A heaven of sweetness which pervadeth    My whole rapt being—heart and mind.

FRIEDRICH HÖLDERLIN

* * * * *

HYPERION'S SONG OF FATE36 (1799)

  Ye wander there in the light  On flower-soft fields, ye blest immortal Spirits.  Radiant godlike zephyrs  Touch you as gently  As the hand of a master might  Touch the awed lute-string.  Free of fate as the slumbering  Infant, breathe the divine ones.  Guarded well  In the firm-sheathed bud  Blooms eternal  Each happy soul;  And their rapture-lit eyes  Shine with a tranquil  Unchanging lustre.  But we, 'tis our portion,  We never may be at rest.  They stumble, they vanish,  The suffering mortals,  Hurtling from one hard  Hour to another,  Like waves that are driven  From cliff-side to cliff-side,  Endlessly down the uncertain abyss.

EVENING PHANTASIE[36] (1799)

Before his but reposes in restful shade The ploughman; wreaths of smoke from his hearth ascend. And sweet to wand'rers comes the tone of Evening bells from the peaceful village.

  The sailor too puts into the haven now,  In distant cities cheerily dies away    The busy tumult; in the arbor      Gleams the festal repast of friendship.  But whither I? In labor, for slight reward  We mortals live; in alternate rest and toil    Contentment dwells; but why then sleeps not      Hid in my bosom the thorn unsparing?  The ev'ning heaven blooms as with springtime's hue;  Uncounted bloom the roses, the golden world    Seems wrapt in peace; oh, bear me thither,      Purple-wrought clouds! And may for me there  Both love and grief dissolve in the joyous light!  But see, as if dispelled by the foolish prayer,    The wonder fades! 'Tis dark, and lonely      Under the heaven I stand as erstwhile.  Come then to me, soft Sleep. Overmuch requires  The heart; and yet thou too at the last shalt fade,    Oh youth, thou restless dream-pursuer!      Peaceful and happy shall age then follow.

LUDWIG TIECK

* * * * *

PUSS IN BOOTS (1797)

A fairy-tale for children in three acts, with interludes, a prologue and an epilogue.

TRANSLATED BY LILLIE WINTER, B.A.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

THE KING

THE PRINCESS, his daughter

PRINCE NATHANIEL of Malsinki

LEANDER, Court scholar

HANSWURST, Court fool

A Groom of the Chamber

The Cook

LORENZ }

BARTHEL } Peasant brothers

GOTTLIEB }

Hinze, a tom-cat

A Tavern-keeper

KUNZ }

MICHEL } Peasants

A Bugbear

A Peace-maker

The Playwright

A Soldier

Two Hussars

Two Lovers

Servants

Musicians

A Peasant

The Prompter

A Shoemaker

A Historian

FISCHER

MÜLLER

BÖTTICHER

LEUTNER

WIESENER

WIESENER'S NEIGHBOR

Elephants

Lions

Bears

An officer

Eagles and other birds

A rabbit

Partridges

Jupiter

Terkaleon

The Machinist

Spirits

Monkeys

The Public.

PROLOGUE

The scene is laid in the pit, the candles are already lighted, the musicians are gathered in the orchestra. The theatre is filled, people talking in confusion, some arriving, etc.

FISCHER, MÜLLER, SCHLOSSER, BÖTTICHER, in the pit

FISCHER

Say, but I am curious, Herr Müller, what do you think of today's play?

MÜLLER

I should be more likely to expect the sky to fall in than to see such a play at our theatre.

FISCHER

Do you know the play?

MÜLLER

Not at all. A strange title that: Puss in Boots. I do hope they're not going to present that child's play at the theatre.

SCHLOSS

Why, is it an opera?

FISCHER

Anything but that; the bill says: A Fairy-tale for Children.

SCHLOSS

A fairy-tale? But in Heaven's name, we're not children, are we, that they want to present such pieces for us? They certainly won't put an actual cat on the stage, will they?

FISCHER

It may turn out to be an imitation of the new Arcadians, a sort of

Terkaleon.

MÜLLER

Now that wouldn't be bad, for I've been wishing this long while to see some time such a wonderful opera without music.

FISCHER

Without music it is absurd, for, my dear friend, we're beyond such childish nonsense, such superstition; enlightenment has borne its natural fruits.

MÜLLER

It may turn out to be a regular picture of domestic life, and the cat is only a joke, something like a jest, so to speak, a motive, if I may call it that.

SCHLOSS

To tell you my honest opinion, I take the whole thing to be a trick to spread sentiment among the people, give them suggestions. You'll see if I'm not right. A revolutionary play, as far as I can understand.

FISCHER

I agree with you, too, for otherwise the style would be horribly offensive. For my part I must admit I never could believe in witches or spirits, not to mention Puss in Boots.

SCHLOSS

The age of these phantoms is past. Why, there comes Leutner; perhaps he can tell us more.

[Leutner pushes himself through the crowd.]

LEUTNER

Good evening, good evening! Well, how are you?

MÜLLER

Do tell us, will you, what sort of play we're having tonight?

[The music begins.]

LEUTNER

So late already? Why, I've come in the nick of time. About the play? I have just been speaking with the author; he is at the theatre and helping dress the tom-cat.

MANY VOICES

Is helping?—The author?—The cat? So a cat will appear, after all?

LEUTNER

Yes, indeed, why his name is even on the bill.

FISCHER

I say, who's playing that part?

LEUTNER

The strange actor, of course, the great man.

MÜLLER

Indeed? But how can they possibly play such nonsense?

LEUTNER

For a change, the author thinks.

FISCHER

A fine change, why not Bluebeard too, and Prince Kobold? Indeed! Some excellent subjects for the drama!

MÜLLER

But how are they going to dress the cat?—And I wonder whether he wears real boots?

LEUTNER

I am just as impatient as all of you.

FISCHER

But shall we really have such stuff played to us? We've come here out of curiosity, to be sure, but still we have taste.

MÜLLER

I feel like making a noise.

LEUTNER

It's rather cold, too. I'll make a start. (He stamps with his feet, the others fall in.)

WIESENER (on the other side)

What does this pounding mean?

LEUTNER

That's to rescue good taste.

WIESENER

Well, then I won't be the last, either. (He stamps.)

VOICES

Be quiet, or you can't hear the music. (All are stamping.)

SCHLOSS

But, I say, we really ought to let them go through the play, for, after all, we've given our money anyhow; afterward we'll pound so they'll hear us out doors.

ALL

No, they'll now—taste—rules—art—otherwise everything will go to ruin.

A CANDLE-SNUFFER

Gentlemen, shall the police be sent in?

LEUTNER

We have paid, we represent the public, and therefore we will have our own good taste and no farces.

THE PLAYWRIGHT (behind the scenes)

The play will begin immediately.

MÜLLER

No play—we want no play—we want good taste—

ALL

Good taste! good taste!

PLAYWR

I am puzzled—what do you mean, if I may ask?

SCHLOSS

Good taste! Are you an author and don't even know what good taste means?

PLAYWR

Consider a young beginner—

SCHLOSS

We want to know nothing about beginners—we want to see a decent play-a play in good taste!

PLAYWR

What sort? What kind?

MÜLLER

Domestic stories—elopements—brothers and sisters from the country—something like that.

[The Author comes out from behind the curtain.]

PLAYWR

Gentlemen—

ALL

Is that the author?

FISCHER

He doesn't look much like an author.

SCHLOSS

Impertinent fellow!

MÜLLER

His hair isn't even trimmed.

PLAYWR

Gentlemen-pardon my boldness.

FISCHER

How can you write such plays? Why haven't you trained yourself?

PLAYWR

Grant me just one minute's audience before you condemn me. I know that the honorable public must pass judgment on the author, and that from them there is no appeal, but I know the justice of an honorable public, and I am assured they will not frighten me away from a course in which I so need their indulgent guidance.

FISCHER

He doesn't talk badly.

MÜLLER

He's more courteous than I thought.

SCHLOSS

He has respect for the public, after all.

PLAYWR

I am ashamed to present to such illustrious judges the modest inspiration of my Muse; it is only the skill of our actors which still consoles me to some extent, otherwise I should be sunk in despair without further ado.

FISCHER

I am sorry for him.

MÜLLER

A good fellow!

PLAYWR

When I heard your worthy stamping—nothing has ever frightened me so, I am still pale and trembling and do not myself comprehend how I have attained to the courage of thus appearing before you.

LEUTNER

Well, clap, then! (All clap.)

PLAYWR

I wanted to make an attempt to furnish amusement by means of humor, by cheerfulness and real jokes, and hope I have been successful, since our newest plays so seldom afford us an opportunity to laugh.

MÜLLER

That's certainly true!

LEUTNER

He's right—that man.

SCHLOSS

Bravo! Bravo!

ALL

Bravo! Bravo! (They clap.)

PLAYWR

I leave you, honored sirs, to decide now whether my attempt is to be rejected entirely—trembling, I withdraw, and the play will begin. (He bows very respectfully and goes behind the curtain.)

ALL

Bravo! Bravo!

VOICES FROM THE GALLERY

Da capo!—

[All are laughing. The music begins again; meanwhile the curtain rises.]

ACT I

Small room in a peasant's cottage

LORENZ, BARTHEL, GOTTLIEB. The tom-cat HINZE, is lying on a bench by the stove.

LORENZ

I think that after the death of our father, our little fortune can be divided easily. You know the deceased has left only three pieces of property—a horse, an ox, and that cat there. I, as the eldest, will take the horse; Barthel, second after me, gets the ox, and so the cat is naturally left for our youngest brother.

LEUTNER (in the pit).

For Heaven's sake! Did any one ever see such an exposition! Just see how far dramatic art has degenerated!

MÜLLER

But I understand everything perfectly well.

LEUTNER

That's just the trouble, you should give the spectator a cunning suggestion, not throw the matter right into his teeth.

MÜLLER

But now you know, don't you, where you are?

LEUTNER

Yes, but you certainly mustn't know that so quickly; why, the very best part of the fun consists in getting at it little by little.

BARTHEL

I think, brother Gottlieb, you will also be satisfied with this division; unfortunately you are the youngest, and so you must grant us some privileges.

GOTTLIEB

Yes, to be sure.

SCHLOSS

But why doesn't the court of awards interfere in the inheritance? What improbabilities!

LORENZ

So then we're going now, dear Gottlieb; farewell, don't let time hang heavy on your hands.

GOTTLIEB

Good-bye.

[Exit the brothers.]

GOTTLIEB (alone).

They are going away—and I am alone. We all three have our lodgings. Lorenz, of course, can till the ground with his horse, Barthel can slaughter and pickle his ox and live on it a while—but what am I, poor unfortunate, to do with my cat? At the most, I can have a muff for the winter made out of his fur, but I think he is even shedding it now. There he lies asleep quite comfortably—poor Hinze! Soon we shall have to part. I am sorry I brought him up, I know him as I know myself—but he will have to believe me, I cannot help myself, I must really sell him. He looks at me as though he understood. I could almost begin to cry.