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| Introduction to English Literature(2020-1) |
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1. Background Novalis wrote his Romantic novel Heinrich
von Ofterdingen in reaction to Johann Wolfgang von Goethes classical novel and
Bildungsroman, Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (1795-1796; Wilhelm Meisters
Apprenticeship, 1824), which he intended to transcend. Heinrich von Ofterdingen
is written in keeping with the definition of Romantic poetry published by
Novalis friend, Friedrich Schlegel, in the 116th fragment of his journal
Athenäum (1798-1800). According to Schlegel, Romantic poetry is progressive,
universal poetry that puts poetry in touch with philosophy and rhetoric. It
should also mix poetry and prose, genius and criticism, and literary poetry and
natural poetry. It recognizes that the capriciousness of the poet is subject to
no laws. This idea of Romantic poetry explains how
Novalis could freely include theoretical commentary, poems, songs, legends, and
Klingsohrs fairy tale within his work as well as how the work could well remain
a fragment. Rules were there to be broken. Novalis could deviate from the
Bildungsroman by turning the novel into a work about poetry instead of the
poet. He could take Klingsohrs fairy tale beyond allegory by giving the
metaphors so many meanings that they were no longer systematic. Heinrich von Ofterdingen is one of the
seminal works of early Romanticism. The vision that guided Heinrich, the blue
flower, subsequently became the symbol for Romanticism per se. Setting the trend for much of German
Romantic literature, Novalis looked back to the Middle Ages as a golden age of
high romance, and he derived the title for his novel from that period. The name
Heinrich von Ofterdingen is that of a minnesinger to whom myth has ascribed the
great ten thousand-verse anonymous heroic epic The Nibelungenlied, which was
written around 1200. Likewise, the name Hohenzollern is that of a family of
Swabian rulers originating in the eleventh or twelfth century. Novalis works all were written in the span
of a few years, between the death of his fiancée Sophie von Kühn in 1796 and
his own early death from tuberculosis. Therefore, Heinrichs mourning in part 2
is quite autobiographical, and the reappearance of Friedrich von Hohenzollerns
dead daughter reflects Novalis longing for the reappearance of his beloved
Sophie. His love for her also explains the leading role given to Sophie in
Klingsohrs fairy tale. Critical response to Heinrich von
Ofterdingen has been polarized from the start. As could be expected, Schlegel
called it a “marvelous and thoroughly new phenomenon”. Other Romantic authors
were not impressed. A positive reception by author Hermann Hesse in 1900
brought the novel back into vogue, and it has been the subject of hundreds of
studies in the twentieth century. 2. Plot Heinrich von Ofterdingen was published
posthumously and remains a fragment. It is questionable whether Novalis could
have taken the novel much further, for it progresses rapidly from the outer to
the inner world, with associations increasing exponentially. Part 1 ends with
Klingsohrs fairy tale, an extremely dense and complicated story that remains
impervious to consistent interpretation. Some regard it as the epitome of a
Romantic literary fairy tale. Others reject it because it does not make sense.
The Germanist Emil Staiger omitted Klingsohrs fairy tale from his 1968 edition
of Novalis works for that reason. To appreciate Novalis fully, the reader must
be prepared to follow his flights of fancy. At the beginning of the novel, Heinrich is
twenty years old. He dreams of death and rebirth, of entering a cave and
experiencing great longing, and of seeing a blue flower with a delicate face
hovering in its center. Heinrich travels to Augsburg, in Swabia, to visit his
grandfather Schwaning for the first time. As the coach heads into the distance,
it seems as if he is actually going home. His traveling companions entertain
him with the story of Atlantis. Novalis links this to Heinrichs dream of the
blue flower, because when the kings daughter finds her future husband, a silent
blue flame is burning in his fathers house. Chapter 5 moves directly into the realm of
fantasy. On an exploratory tour of caves, Heinrich encounters a hermit,
Friedrich von Hohenzollern. In one of Friedrichs books, Heinrich is amazed to
see pictures of himself with people he knows and people he does not yet know,
including a man who seems to be of considerable importance to him. Friedrich
explains that the book, written in Provençal, is a novel about the wonderful
adventures of a poet and in praise of poetry itself in all of its diversity.
The end of the novel is missing. At his grandfathers house, Heinrich
recognizes the important man from the book as Klingsohr the poet. Heinrich also
immediately falls in love with Klingsohrs daughter Mathilde, whose face is the
one that appeared to him in the blue flower. He dreams of being under a blue
stream with her. She says a wonderful, secret word to him that rings through
his entire being. His grandfather wakes him, and he cannot remember the word. Klingsohr tells his fairy tale, a
capricious condensation and combination of many fairy tales and myths. It takes
place on three levels: the frozen world of Arcturus, the main world of the
family, and the underworld where the three fates spin. Evil appears in the
person of the rational family scribe, who plots to overthrow the family, but
the child Fable outsmarts him and, together with Sophie (wisdom) and Eros,
brings about the unfreezing and rebirth of the world. Eros dream of a flower
floating on a blue stream provides the symbolic link to the main work. Part 2 of the novel shows Heinrich in deep
mourning after Mathildes death. Zyane, the daughter of Friedrich von
Hohenzollern, appears to him, saying that her father is also his father. In
answer to Heinrich’s question “Where are we going?” she replies, “Always home.”Background 3. From
Chapter 8 of Geze von Molnar’s Romantic Vision, Ethical Context: Novalis and
Artistic Autonomy The Pragmatic World vs The Dream: Pragmatic
concerns are fundamental and necessary to human existence; however, they are
insufficient as a validation of that existence since they only support it. The
pragmatic circle is one within which the self defines itself solely on terms of
those of its needs and desires that arise from its state of dependence on the
world around it. In other words, the "I" defines itself as
"it," and the enactment of this self-definition takes the form of
self-expansion powered by the possessive rather than moral imperative.
Accordingly, the limited sphere of the pragmatic world has no center, no
"I," except as a potential core or offspring that emerges as the
walls of the little home in the night are breached and the protective, yet also
restrictive, confines of pragmatism open up toward the absolute sphere that
completes the ''basic schema.''(102) ''It is not the treasures that have
awakened such an inexpressible longing in me,'' he said to himself; ''nothing
is further from me than greed [actually, 'the consuming passion to have, or
possess']: but I do long to behold the blue flower. It is perpetually in my
mind, and nothing else occupies my thought and imagination. ''(I, 195, 11.
9-13) Heinrich’s Task: The world has not
changed, but his relationship to it has, and in the process the divisive limit
between inside and outside, between ego and nonego, has become transparent. No
matter how much nature is tamed in the service of human need, it always retains
its forbidding otherness that ultimately claims the existence it temporarily
supports. Once the self gains an inkling of its freedom, even that final
barrier erected in testimony to the self's dependence loses it threatening power
and nature assumes the features of another self. Accordingly, it now seems to
the youth as though rocks, trees, and animals were about to speak to him, a
state of mind that would have to be judged insane by previous standards were it
not for the reassurance he derives from a greater clarity of vision and a heightened
sense of understanding. At this point, he is still confused about this sudden
change of perspective and far from conscious of what it entails. To grow into
full self-consciousness as he receives an ever more comprehensive vision of the
world from the perspective of his freedom, from the center for which the inner
and outer realms merge, that will be his task(103). Klingsohr’s education: Klingsohr's fairy
tale not only exemplifies the poet's craft but also tells how a household,
allegorically representative of the self's faculties, arrives at its
deliverance from bondage into freedom(103). Dream and Poetry: Dreams are, however, a
purely subjective, or internal, experience that must be communicable if it is
to have validity. Poetic statements are such dreams shared in common and fairy
tales, as least referential to a pragmatic context, come closest to being
objective, or external, counterparts to dreams(104). “The Self” in Heinrich’s first dream: The
self is not only the indirect object of consciousness viewed in the context of
external circumstances that affect its feelings, thoughts, and actions, but
also the direct object that is always self regardless of circumstantial affect.
Self-consciousness is an act of consciousness that establishes self-identity as
the necessary prior condition for all other conditions to which the self may be
subject and to which its feelings, thoughts, and actions respond. If
self-conciousness were not free of all other conditions but merely a secondary
phenomenon that is dependent on them, there could be no consciousness of self
since the self's identity could not be determined from the constant flow of
changing conditions to which it is exposed. The ability to say "I,"
or rather "I am" feeling, thinking, doing, and so on, derives from
the unqualified certainty of self-consciousness and not from a composite of
experiences that span the interim between birth and death, even if that cycle
were to be repeated indefinitely as the dream intimates. In other words,
"I" does not mean an ego dependent on the primacy of the nonego, not
world through which there is a self, but rather self-identity; and
self-identity, in tum, means freedom of agency through which there is a self
that entails the summary possibility of its determinability and therefore also
the summary possibility of its determinant, the world outside. As long as ''I''
is not understood in its freedom as the potential sum and closure of its
determinability and of its determinant, the self is not truly conscious of
itself and persists in misunderstanding its relationship to the world(106-7). Sense as expressions of the interaction between
in and out: Sight, hearing, taste, and touch modify the outer reality that is
perceived and are therefore best suited to characterize the interaction between
ego and nonego as one comprising the dual moments of external limit and inner
creativity(108). The dreamer as the creative force contsructing
the world: All impressions to which the self is subject would remain as
indistinct by themselves as the multicolored liquid that surrounds the bather
in the dream. They do take on distinct shapes, however, with reference to the
self's capability to think and order the universe of its environment. That very
process is visualized by the dreamer as he sees the thoughts and feelings
stimulated by the immersion actually materalize around him in the pool. With
this last installment, the vision is complete and the conscious perception of a
world containing the self has been shown to originate with a process that
entails spontaneous action from within reflected against a limit imposed from
without. The dreamer has seen himself, not just as the primary and only
constant object of consciousness but as the creative force constructing the
world within which that objectified self takes its place as one object among
others(108). “The Self which is free”: Cognition, so
the dream demonstrates, requires that the self be determined; however, it also
demonstrates that the self be determined as a self whose identity is not the
equivalent of any of its determined states. If action is not determined, then
it is free, which means that the nondetermined state of self-identity is a condition
of free activity that precedes its modification, just as the fountain's spontaneity
precedes the wall's limiting effect on it(109). Heinrich’s Sleep and the Creation of Selfhood:
He falls asleep to the world of his consciousness because its externalized version
does not include the vision of the fountain as its origin and effectively denies
the spontaneity of its source within the self's freedom. In the waking state,
to which he would be released after the world has been constructed as shown in
the dream, only the final product and not its genesis is apparent to consciousness.
The world simply is there and is the environment on which the self depends.
Viewed from its outcome, the process that brings world and self before
consciousness appears in reverse order. Limitation is now the most immediate, and
therefore primary, factor, whereas the self is once removed and its actions
merely serve to provide for accommodation within the imposed limits. This is
the daytime world of wakeful, pragmatic concerns, a world as unyielding in its
otherness as the rock outside the cave, only the self has now become part of it
and the magic cavern is lost from view. The gold is well hidden but it remains
at the core, guarded by walls of stone and some, like the miner in the central
chapter, prove capable of braving the barrier(111). Fountain as the symbol of the freedom of Self:
In contrast to the cave, a marked absence of limitation is the most pronounced feature
in this phase of the dream. Nothing could better embody the elusive concept of
self-enactment than the image of a fountain shaping itself by the unmitigated
power of its own spontaneous energy. This fountain gives itself its own rule
and it progresses unimpeded by any limitation that would curtail the domain of
its authority. The rocks are there but they are at some distance and in no
position to offer resistance to the fountain's activity, which freely extends outward,
enacting its own being just as the self would in its capacity of moral agent(112). Heinrich’s “passivity”: The fountain is
central but right beside it are both Heinrich and the blue flower. Next to the
fountain's pure activity, Heinrich's utter inactivity is all the more striking.
He is completely passive, purely receptive and "sees nothing but the blue
flower" ("Er sah nichts als die blaue Blume") (I, 197, 1. 21).
It is the sort of receptivity that is only possible from the perspective of
freedom, and that perspective is certainly the one under which this world
appears, a world that holds no obstacles for the fountain's freedom of agency.
Pure activity and pure passivity are here conjoined into the active passivity
that is at the heart of the "hohere Wissenschaftslehre." Also at its
heart is Novalis' s theory of mediation, which finds its most compelling
expression in the symbol of the blue flower(112-13). The suspension of the subjective and the
objective states of the self: As Heinrich lies next to the fountain of freedom,
the heavenly sphere and all the flowers under it converge on him in the one
flower whose light blue color – the only color he sees - identifies it as a
messenger to the field of light from the dark expanse the fountain approaches.
Where the fountain of freedom emanates, there is the center where the dualism
of the self's subjective and objective moments is suspended; there also is the
center of the universe where the blue flower grows through which the infinitely
removed sphere that comprehends the world may descend upon Heinrich and confirm
this suspension in a reciprocal movement. "World is to be self,"
longs the free agent, and "I am you," comes the response as the
flower bends down toward Heinrich and opens its blue corolla to his view in
order to display a human face at the center(114). Kingsohr’s tale: Once again, Novalis has
Eros forge the bond that links self to world and world to self. To be sure,
that union has not yet been consummated and is still only a promise, but the
power capable of bringing this event about has been identified. The story of the
dream's fulfillment, which is also the story of Eros, is told in Klingsohr's
tale. It is really more of an allegorical myth than a fairy tale, a product of
his youth, as Kling so hr claims, a product of our culture's youth, as the
variation on a Platonic theme makes evident. However, it is a variation quite
new and youthful in its own right because, aside from the figure of Eros, it
creates its own mythology against an entirely different philosophical background(115). Heinrich vs Heinrich’s father: The father
knows himself only as a determined being, an individual whose link to others
must be the determinant he has in common with them. Images, be they dreamed,
thought, or expressed in words, can have validity for him only because they
reflect this common ground of reference, which is the concrete givenness of the
objective world as a causal nexus of necessity. He, too, had had a dream as a
young man, quite similar to Heinrich's; he, too, had seen a flower, but he had
also been quick to associate this vision with the world from where he had come,
a world to which he returned after his dream with thoughts of marriage and
eager to establish himself in his craft. In his language a flower is a flower
and a human face a human face. He is right, of course, because in the order of
causal relationships, according to which our rational faculty understands the
information received by sense perception, flowers cannot have a human face. He
never dreamed his dream to an end since the waking world intruded too soon, and
when he thinks or says "flower," it means something else than it does
for Heinrich. The reason for this discrepancy is not that their words refer to
different objects but that those words refer the same object to different
levels of self-consciousness; Heinrich's refer to a self that is free in determining
its activity but not awake, the father's to a self that is awake but not free.
If both are to understand one another, it can only be with reference to a self
that is conscious of its freedom in a waking state, and the self attains this
sort of consciousness as a moral being(116). Klingsohr’s Tale demonstrating the moral law:
The law according to which the self forms its images while dreaming is its own,
and if that law is to have more than purely subjective applicability, it must be
one all selves hold in common. The moral law is such a law, and how the world
appears from its vantage point is a dream whose many versions all individuals may
share. The act of dreaming is itself equivalent to the activity depicted in the
cave-phase of Heinrich's dream; before he shares it, he will have to realize its
last phase, which he does in the chapters that follow. Klingsohr's tale
concludes this process with a demonstration of the poet's craft that enables
those who have mastered it to speak the language of waking dreams and reclaim
the imagination's sovereignty over the world. The poet speaks with moral
authority, not as a moralizing pedant but as a free individual who invites
everyone else to share his perspective of the world. His statements are those
of a free agent and they proclaim the sovereignty of the imagination because
they address an audience of peers capable of following his invitation and of
acknowledging that sovereignty in themselves. Klingsohr's tale is a commentary
on the liberating power of the spirit of poesy, a commentary vouched for by his
own practice as he tells the story to a receptive circle of listeners. They,
however, remain out of sight because those listeners are we ourselves, and it
is actually we who are asked to realize the truth of Novalis's poetics as he
has Klingsohr present them to us(116). 4. A
Few Passages from The Text Chapter I “A Sweeter slumber”: He dreamed that he was sitting on the soft
turf by the margin of a fountain, whose waters flowed into the air, and seemed
to vanish in it. Dark blue rocks with various colored veins rose in the
distance. The daylight around him was milder and clearer than usual; the sky
was of a sombre blue, and free from clouds. But what most attracted his notice,
was a tall, light-blue flower, which stood nearest the fountain, and touched it
with its broad, glossy leaves. Around it grew numberless flowers of varied hue,
filling the air with the richest perfume. But he saw the blue flower alone, and
gazed long upon it with inexpressible tenderness. He at length was about to
approach it, when it began to move, and change its form. The leaves increased
their beauty, adorning the growing stem. The flower bended towards him, and
revealed among its leaves a blue, outspread collar, within which hovered a
tender face. His delightful astonishment was increasing with this singular
change, when suddenly his mother's voice awoke him, and he found himself in his
parents' room, already gilded by the morning sun. He was too happy to be angry
at the sudden disturbance of his sleep. He bade his mother a kind good morning,
and returned her hearty embrace(11). Father’s World: His father worked on
industriously, and said; "Dreams are froth, let the learned think what
they will of them; and you will do well to turn your attention from such
useless and hurtful speculations. The times when Heavenly visions were seen in
dreams have long past by, nor can we understand the state of mind, which those
chosen men, of whom the Bible speaks, enjoyed. Dreams, as well as other human
affairs, must have been of a different nature then. In the age in which we
live, there is no direct intercourse with Heaven. Old histories and writings
are now the only fountains, from which we can draw, as far as is needful, a knowledge
of the spiritual world; and instead of express revelations, the Holy Ghost now
speaks to us immediately through the understandings of wise and sensible men,
and by the lives and fate of those most distinguished for their piety. I have
never been much edified by the visions, which are now seen; nor do I place much
confidence in the wonders. which our divines relate about them. Yet let every
one, who can, be edified by them; I would not cause any one to err in his
faith."(12) Heinrich’s View on Dream: “ˇDreams appear
to me to break up the monotony and even tenor of life, to serve as a recreation
to the chained fancy. They mingle together all the scenes and fancies of life,
and change the continual earnestness of age, into the merry sports of childhood.
Were it not for dreams, we should certainly grow older; and though they be not
given us immediately from above; yet they should be regarded as Heavenly gifts,
as friendly guides, in our pilgrimage to the holy tomb. I am sure that the
dream, which I have had this night, has been no profitless occurrence in my
life; for I feel that it has, like some vast wheel, caught hold of my soul, and
is hurrying me along with it in its mighty revolutions."(12) Father’s Dream: “ˇAt last he showed me a
chamber, where I could pass the night, for it was too late for me to return to
the city. I soon fell asleep and dreamed.—I thought that I was passing out of
the gates of my native city. It seemed to me that I was going to get something
done, but where, and what, I did not know. I took the road to Hartz, and walked
quickly along, as merry as if going to a festival. I did not keep the road, but
cut across through wood and valley, till I came to a lofty mountain. From its
top I gazed on the golden fields around me, beheld Thuringia in the distance, and
was so situated, that no other mountain could obstruct my view. Opposite lay
the Hartz with its dusky hills. Castles, convents, and whole districts were
embraced in the prospect. My ideas were all clear and distinct. I thought of
the old man, in whose house I was sleeping; and my visit seemed like some
occurrence of past years. I soon saw an ascending path leading into the
mountain, and I followed it. After some time I came to a large cave; there sat
a very old man in a long garment, before an iron table, gazing incessantly upon
a wondrously beautiful maiden, that stood before him hewn in marble. His beard
had grown through the iron table, and covered his feet. His features were
serious, yet kind, and put me in mind of a head by one of the old masters,
which my host had shown me in the evening. The cave was filled with glowing
light. While I was looking at the old man, my host tapped me on the shoulder,
took my hand, and led me through many long paths, till we saw a mild light shining
in the distance, like the dawn of day. I hastened to it, and soon found myself in
a green plain; but there was nothing about it to remind me of Thuringia. Giant trees,
with their large, glossy leaves, spread their shade far and wide. The air was
very hot, yet not oppressive. Around me flowers and fountains were springing
from the earth. Among the former there was one that particularly pleased me,
and to which all the others seemed to do homageˇAll I recollect is, that my
feelings were so wrought up, that for a time I forgot all about my guide. When
at length I turned towards him, I noticed that he was looking at me
attentively, and that he met me with a pleasant smile. I do not remember how I
came from that place. I was again on the top of the mountain; my guide stood by
my side and said, 'You have seen the wonder of the world. It lies in your power
to become the happiest being in the world, and, besides that, a celebrated man.
Remember well what I tell you. Come on St. John's day, towards evening, to this
place, and when you have devoutly prayed to God to interpret this vision, the highest
earthly lot will be yours. Also take notice particularly of a little blue
flower, which you will find above here; pluck it, and commit yourself humbly to
heavenly guidance.' I then dreamed that I was among most splendid scenes and
noble men, ravished by the swift changing objects that met my eyes. How fluent
were my words! how free my tongue! How music swelled its strains! Afterwards
everything became dull and insignificant as usual. I saw your mother standing
before me, with a kind and modest look. A bright-looking child was in her arms.
She reached it to me; it gradually grew brighter; at length it raised itself on
its dazzling white wings, took us both in its arms, and soared so high with us,
that the earth appeared like a plate of gold, covered with beautifully wrought
carving. I only recollect, that, after this vision, the flower, the old man,
and the mountain appeared before me again. I awoke soon after, much agitated by
vehement love. I bade farewell to my hospitable friend, who urged me to repeat
my visit often. I promised to do so, and should have kept my promise, had I not
shortly after left Rome for Augsburg, my mind being much excited by the scenes
I had witnessed."(14) Chapter II Merchant’s words on poetry: “In the art of
poetry, on the contrary, there is nothing tangible to be met with. It creates
nothing with tools and hands. The eye and the ear perceive it not; for the mere
hearing of the words has no real influence in this secret art. It is all internal;
and as other artists fill the external senses with agreeable emotions, so in
like manner the poet fills the internal sanctuary of the mind with new,
wonderful, and pleasing thoughts. He knows how to awaken at pleasure the secret
powers within us, and by words gives us force to see into an unknown and
glorious world. Ancient and future times, innumerable men, strange countries,
and the most singular events rise up within us, as from deep hiding places, and
tear us away from the known present. We hear strange words and know not their
import. The language of the poet stirs, up a magic power; even ordinary words
flow forth in charming melody, and intoxicate the fast-bound listener."(18) Chapter III The hermit showed him his books. They
consisted of old histories and poems. Henry turned over the leaves of these
huge and beautifully illuminated works, and his curiosity was strongly excited
by the short lines of the verses, the titles, some of the passages, and the
beautiful pictures which appeared here and there, like embodied words, to
assist the imagination of the reader. The Hermit observed his inward gratification
and explained these singular pictures. All the varied scenes of life were represented
among them. Battles, funereal trains, marriage ceremonies, shipwrecks, caves,
and palaces, kings, heroes, priests, men in singular costume, strange beasts, were
delineated in different alternations and connexions. Henry could not sate
himself with gazing at them, and wished nothing more than to remain with the
hermit, who irresistibly attracted him, and to be instructed by him in these
books. In the mean time the old man asked whether there were any more caves;
and the hermit told him, that there were some extensive ones near, to which he
would accompany him. The old man was ready; and the hermit, who observed
Henry's interest in the books, induced him to remain, and to examine them more
closely during their absence. Henry was glad to stay where the books were, and
thanked the hermit heartily for his permission to do so. He turned over their
leaves with indescribable pleasure. At last a book fell into his hands, written
in a foreign tongue, which appeared to him somewhat like Latin or Italian. He
longed greatly to know the language, for the book pleased him greatly, though
he did not understand a syllable of it. It had no title; but after a little search
he found some engravings. They seemed strangely familiar to him; and on examination,
he discovered his own form quite discernible among the figures. He was terrified,
and thought that he must be dreaming; but after having examined them again and
again, he could no longer doubt their perfect resemblance. He could hardly
trust his senses, when in one of the pictures he discovered the cave, the
hermit, and the old man by his side. By degrees he found among the pictures the
girl from the holy land, his parents, the count and countess of Thuringia, his
friend the court chaplain; and many others of his acquaintance; yet their dress
was changed, and seemed to belong to another period. There were many forms he
could not call by name, but which nevertheless seemed known to him. He saw the
exact portraits of himself, in different situations. Towards the end he
appeared larger and nobler. The guitar rested in his arms, and the countess
handed him a wreath. He saw himself at the imperial court, on shipboard, now in
warm embrace with a beautifully formed and lovely girl, now in battle with
fierce-looking men, and again in friendly conversation with Saracens and Moors.
He was frequently accompanied by a man of grave aspect. He felt a deep reverence
for this august form, and was glad to see himself arm in arm with him. The last
pictures were obscure and incomprehensible; yet some of the shapes of his dream
surprised him with the most intense rapture. The conclusion of the book was
wanting. Henry was very sorrowful, and wished for nothing more earnestly than
to be able to read and thoroughly understand the book. He looked over the
pictures repeatedly, and was almost abashed when the company returned. A
strange sort of shame overcame him. He did not suffer himself to make known his
discovery, and merely asked the Hermit generally about its title and language.
He learned that it was written in the Provence tongue "It is long since I
have read it," said the Hermit; "I do not now remember its contents
very distinctly. As far as I recollect, it is a romance, relating the wonderful
fortune of a poet's life, wherein the art of poesy is represented and extolled
in all its various relations. The conclusion is wanting to the manuscript,
which I brought with me from Jerusalem, where I found it left with a friend,
and took it, away, an a memorial of him."(49) Chapter VI Heinrich’s Dream after meeing Matilda: It
was late in the evening when the company separated. "The first and only
feast of my life," said Henry, when he was alone, and his mother had
retired wearied to rest. "Do I not feel as I felt in that dream about the
blue flower? What peculiar connexion is there between Matilda and that flower?
That face, which bowed towards me from the petals, was Matilda's heavenly
countenance, and I also now remember that I saw it in that book. But why did it
not there thus move my heart? O! she is the visible spirit of song, the worthy
daughter of her father. She will dissolve me into music. She will become my
inmost soul, the guardian spirit of my holy fire. What an eternity of faithful
love do I feel within me? I was born only to revere her, to serve her forever,
to think of and to feel her. Does there not belong a peculiar, undivided existence
to her contemplation and worship? Am I the happy one, whose being may be the
echo, the mirror of her's? It is not owing to chance that I have seen her at
the end of my journey, that a happy feast has encircled the highest moment of
my life. It could not have been otherwise; for does not her presence render
every thing a feast?" He stepped to the window. The choir of the stars
stood in the dusky sky, and in the east a white glimmer announced the coming
day. Full of rapture, Henry exclaimed, "Ye eternal stars, ye silent
wanderers, I call upon you as witnesses of my sacred oath. For Matilda will I
live, and eternal constancy shall bind her to my heart. The morning of eternal
day is also opening for me. The night is past. I kindle myself to the rising
sun, for an inextinguishable offering." Henry was heated, and only fell asleep
late in the morning. The thoughts of his soul flowed together into a wonderful
dream. A deep blue stream glimmered from the green plains. A boat was floating
upon the smooth surface. Matilda was sitting in it, and steering. She was
adorned with garlands, singing a simple song, and looked over to him with sweet
sadness. His bosom was oppressed, he knew not why. The sky was clear; the flood
quiet. Her heavenly face was reflected in the waves. Suddenly the boat began to
whirl. He cried out to her earnestly. She smiled and laid down the helm in the
boat which continued its whirling. He was seized with overwhelming fear. He plunged
into the stream, but could not move, and was hurried along. She beckoned to him,
as if she had something to tell him, and though the boat was fast filling with water,
yet she smiled with unspeakable tenderness, and looked down serenely into the abyss.
Suddenly it drew her in. A gentle breath of air passed over the stream, which, flowed
on as quiet and glittering as ever. His intense anxiety robbed Henry of all consciousness.
His heart no longer throbbed. On recovering, his senses, he was on the dry
land. He must have floated a long distance. It was a strange country. He knew
not what had happened to him. His mind had vanished. Thoughtlessly he plunged
deeper and deeper into the country. He was excessively weary. A little spring
gushed from the side of a hill, sounding like the music of bells. In his hand
he caught a few drops, and with them wetted his parched lips. The terrible
occurrence lay behind him like a fearful dream. He walked on farther and
farther;--flowers and trees spoke to him(56-57). Chapter VII Klingsohr’s Lessons on Poetry: “ˇNothing
is more indispensable to the poet, than insight into the nature of every
occupation, acquaintance with the means by which every object may be attained,
and the power of fitly regulating the presence of the spirit according to time
and circumstances. Inspiration without intellect is useless and dangerous; and
the poet will be able to perform few wonders, when he is astonished by
wonders." On Poet: "But is not an implicit
faith in man's dominion over destiny indispensable to the poet?" "Certainly indispensable, because he
cannot represent fate to himself in any other light, when he maturely reflects
upon it. But how distant is this calm certainty from that anxious doubt, which
proceeds from the blind fear of superstition! And thus also the steady,
animating warmth of a poetic mind is exactly the reverse of the wild heat of a
sickly heart; The one is poor, overwhelming, and transient; the other perfectly
distinguishes all forms, favors the culture of the most manifold relations, and
is in itself eternal. The youthful poet cannot be too cool and considerate. A
far-reaching, attentive, and quiet disposition belongs to the true, melodious
ease of address. It becomes a confused prattling, when a violent storm is
raging in the breast; and the attention is lost in a trembling emptiness of
thought. Once more I repeat it; the true mind is like the light; even as calm
and sensitive, as elastic and penetrating, as powerful and as imperceptibly
active, as that costly element, which with its native regularity scatters
itself upon all objects, and exhibits them in charming variety. The poet is
pure steel, as sensitive as a brittle thread of glass, as hard as the
unyielding flint."(59) On Poetry again: "Poetry,"
continued Klingsohr, "will be cultivated strictly as an art. As mere enjoyment
it ceases to be poetry. The poet must not run about unoccupied the whole day in
chase of figures and feelings. That is the very reverse of the proper method. A
pure, open mind, dexterity in reflection and contemplation, and ability to put
forth all the faculties in a mutually animating effort, and to keep them
so,--these are the requisites of our art. If you will commit yourself to my
care, no day shall pass in which you shall not add stores to your knowledge,
and obtain some useful views. The city is rich in artists of all descriptions.
There are some experienced statesmen and educated merchants here. One can get
acquainted with all ranks without much difficulty, with people of all pursuits,
and with all social circumstances and requirements. I will with pleasure
instruct you in the mechanical part of our art, and read its most remarkable
productions with you. You may share Matilda's hours of instruction, and she
will willingly teach you to play the guitar. Each occupation will usher in the
rest; and when you have thus well spent the day, the conversation and pleasures
of a social evening, and the views of the beautiful landscapes around, will continually
renew to you the calmest enjoyment."(59) |
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1. Background Novalis wrote his Romantic novel Heinrich
von Ofterdingen in reaction to Johann Wolfgang von Goethes classical novel and
Bildungsroman, Wilhelm Meisters Lehrjahre (1795-1796; Wilhelm Meisters
Apprenticeship, 1824), which he intended to transcend. Heinrich von Ofterdingen
is written in keeping with the definition of Romantic poetry published by
Novalis friend, Friedrich Schlegel, in the 116th fragment of his journal
Athenäum (1798-1800). According to Schlegel, Romantic poetry is progressive,
universal poetry that puts poetry in touch with philosophy and rhetoric. It
should also mix poetry and prose, genius and criticism, and literary poetry and
natural poetry. It recognizes that the capriciousness of the poet is subject to
no laws. This idea of Romantic poetry explains how
Novalis could freely include theoretical commentary, poems, songs, legends, and
Klingsohrs fairy tale within his work as well as how the work could well remain
a fragment. Rules were there to be broken. Novalis could deviate from the
Bildungsroman by turning the novel into a work about poetry instead of the
poet. He could take Klingsohrs fairy tale beyond allegory by giving the
metaphors so many meanings that they were no longer systematic. Heinrich von Ofterdingen is one of the
seminal works of early Romanticism. The vision that guided Heinrich, the blue
flower, subsequently became the symbol for Romanticism per se. Setting the trend for much of German
Romantic literature, Novalis looked back to the Middle Ages as a golden age of
high romance, and he derived the title for his novel from that period. The name
Heinrich von Ofterdingen is that of a minnesinger to whom myth has ascribed the
great ten thousand-verse anonymous heroic epic The Nibelungenlied, which was
written around 1200. Likewise, the name Hohenzollern is that of a family of
Swabian rulers originating in the eleventh or twelfth century. Novalis works all were written in the span
of a few years, between the death of his fiancée Sophie von Kühn in 1796 and
his own early death from tuberculosis. Therefore, Heinrichs mourning in part 2
is quite autobiographical, and the reappearance of Friedrich von Hohenzollerns
dead daughter reflects Novalis longing for the reappearance of his beloved
Sophie. His love for her also explains the leading role given to Sophie in
Klingsohrs fairy tale. Critical response to Heinrich von
Ofterdingen has been polarized from the start. As could be expected, Schlegel
called it a “marvelous and thoroughly new phenomenon”. Other Romantic authors
were not impressed. A positive reception by author Hermann Hesse in 1900
brought the novel back into vogue, and it has been the subject of hundreds of
studies in the twentieth century. 2. Plot Heinrich von Ofterdingen was published
posthumously and remains a fragment. It is questionable whether Novalis could
have taken the novel much further, for it progresses rapidly from the outer to
the inner world, with associations increasing exponentially. Part 1 ends with
Klingsohrs fairy tale, an extremely dense and complicated story that remains
impervious to consistent interpretation. Some regard it as the epitome of a
Romantic literary fairy tale. Others reject it because it does not make sense.
The Germanist Emil Staiger omitted Klingsohrs fairy tale from his 1968 edition
of Novalis works for that reason. To appreciate Novalis fully, the reader must
be prepared to follow his flights of fancy. At the beginning of the novel, Heinrich is
twenty years old. He dreams of death and rebirth, of entering a cave and
experiencing great longing, and of seeing a blue flower with a delicate face
hovering in its center. Heinrich travels to Augsburg, in Swabia, to visit his
grandfather Schwaning for the first time. As the coach heads into the distance,
it seems as if he is actually going home. His traveling companions entertain
him with the story of Atlantis. Novalis links this to Heinrichs dream of the
blue flower, because when the kings daughter finds her future husband, a silent
blue flame is burning in his fathers house. Chapter 5 moves directly into the realm of
fantasy. On an exploratory tour of caves, Heinrich encounters a hermit,
Friedrich von Hohenzollern. In one of Friedrichs books, Heinrich is amazed to
see pictures of himself with people he knows and people he does not yet know,
including a man who seems to be of considerable importance to him. Friedrich
explains that the book, written in Provençal, is a novel about the wonderful
adventures of a poet and in praise of poetry itself in all of its diversity.
The end of the novel is missing. At his grandfathers house, Heinrich
recognizes the important man from the book as Klingsohr the poet. Heinrich also
immediately falls in love with Klingsohrs daughter Mathilde, whose face is the
one that appeared to him in the blue flower. He dreams of being under a blue
stream with her. She says a wonderful, secret word to him that rings through
his entire being. His grandfather wakes him, and he cannot remember the word. Klingsohr tells his fairy tale, a
capricious condensation and combination of many fairy tales and myths. It takes
place on three levels: the frozen world of Arcturus, the main world of the
family, and the underworld where the three fates spin. Evil appears in the
person of the rational family scribe, who plots to overthrow the family, but
the child Fable outsmarts him and, together with Sophie (wisdom) and Eros,
brings about the unfreezing and rebirth of the world. Eros dream of a flower
floating on a blue stream provides the symbolic link to the main work. Part 2 of the novel shows Heinrich in deep
mourning after Mathildes death. Zyane, the daughter of Friedrich von
Hohenzollern, appears to him, saying that her father is also his father. In
answer to Heinrich’s question “Where are we going?” she replies, “Always home.”Background 3. From
Chapter 8 of Geze von Molnar’s Romantic Vision, Ethical Context: Novalis and
Artistic Autonomy The Pragmatic World vs The Dream: Pragmatic
concerns are fundamental and necessary to human existence; however, they are
insufficient as a validation of that existence since they only support it. The
pragmatic circle is one within which the self defines itself solely on terms of
those of its needs and desires that arise from its state of dependence on the
world around it. In other words, the "I" defines itself as
"it," and the enactment of this self-definition takes the form of
self-expansion powered by the possessive rather than moral imperative.
Accordingly, the limited sphere of the pragmatic world has no center, no
"I," except as a potential core or offspring that emerges as the
walls of the little home in the night are breached and the protective, yet also
restrictive, confines of pragmatism open up toward the absolute sphere that
completes the ''basic schema.''(102) ''It is not the treasures that have
awakened such an inexpressible longing in me,'' he said to himself; ''nothing
is further from me than greed [actually, 'the consuming passion to have, or
possess']: but I do long to behold the blue flower. It is perpetually in my
mind, and nothing else occupies my thought and imagination. ''(I, 195, 11.
9-13) Heinrich’s Task: The world has not
changed, but his relationship to it has, and in the process the divisive limit
between inside and outside, between ego and nonego, has become transparent. No
matter how much nature is tamed in the service of human need, it always retains
its forbidding otherness that ultimately claims the existence it temporarily
supports. Once the self gains an inkling of its freedom, even that final
barrier erected in testimony to the self's dependence loses it threatening power
and nature assumes the features of another self. Accordingly, it now seems to
the youth as though rocks, trees, and animals were about to speak to him, a
state of mind that would have to be judged insane by previous standards were it
not for the reassurance he derives from a greater clarity of vision and a heightened
sense of understanding. At this point, he is still confused about this sudden
change of perspective and far from conscious of what it entails. To grow into
full self-consciousness as he receives an ever more comprehensive vision of the
world from the perspective of his freedom, from the center for which the inner
and outer realms merge, that will be his task(103). Klingsohr’s education: Klingsohr's fairy
tale not only exemplifies the poet's craft but also tells how a household,
allegorically representative of the self's faculties, arrives at its
deliverance from bondage into freedom(103). Dream and Poetry: Dreams are, however, a
purely subjective, or internal, experience that must be communicable if it is
to have validity. Poetic statements are such dreams shared in common and fairy
tales, as least referential to a pragmatic context, come closest to being
objective, or external, counterparts to dreams(104). “The Self” in Heinrich’s first dream: The
self is not only the indirect object of consciousness viewed in the context of
external circumstances that affect its feelings, thoughts, and actions, but
also the direct object that is always self regardless of circumstantial affect.
Self-consciousness is an act of consciousness that establishes self-identity as
the necessary prior condition for all other conditions to which the self may be
subject and to which its feelings, thoughts, and actions respond. If
self-conciousness were not free of all other conditions but merely a secondary
phenomenon that is dependent on them, there could be no consciousness of self
since the self's identity could not be determined from the constant flow of
changing conditions to which it is exposed. The ability to say "I,"
or rather "I am" feeling, thinking, doing, and so on, derives from
the unqualified certainty of self-consciousness and not from a composite of
experiences that span the interim between birth and death, even if that cycle
were to be repeated indefinitely as the dream intimates. In other words,
"I" does not mean an ego dependent on the primacy of the nonego, not
world through which there is a self, but rather self-identity; and
self-identity, in tum, means freedom of agency through which there is a self
that entails the summary possibility of its determinability and therefore also
the summary possibility of its determinant, the world outside. As long as ''I''
is not understood in its freedom as the potential sum and closure of its
determinability and of its determinant, the self is not truly conscious of
itself and persists in misunderstanding its relationship to the world(106-7). Sense as expressions of the interaction between
in and out: Sight, hearing, taste, and touch modify the outer reality that is
perceived and are therefore best suited to characterize the interaction between
ego and nonego as one comprising the dual moments of external limit and inner
creativity(108). The dreamer as the creative force contsructing
the world: All impressions to which the self is subject would remain as
indistinct by themselves as the multicolored liquid that surrounds the bather
in the dream. They do take on distinct shapes, however, with reference to the
self's capability to think and order the universe of its environment. That very
process is visualized by the dreamer as he sees the thoughts and feelings
stimulated by the immersion actually materalize around him in the pool. With
this last installment, the vision is complete and the conscious perception of a
world containing the self has been shown to originate with a process that
entails spontaneous action from within reflected against a limit imposed from
without. The dreamer has seen himself, not just as the primary and only
constant object of consciousness but as the creative force constructing the
world within which that objectified self takes its place as one object among
others(108). “The Self which is free”: Cognition, so
the dream demonstrates, requires that the self be determined; however, it also
demonstrates that the self be determined as a self whose identity is not the
equivalent of any of its determined states. If action is not determined, then
it is free, which means that the nondetermined state of self-identity is a condition
of free activity that precedes its modification, just as the fountain's spontaneity
precedes the wall's limiting effect on it(109). Heinrich’s Sleep and the Creation of Selfhood:
He falls asleep to the world of his consciousness because its externalized version
does not include the vision of the fountain as its origin and effectively denies
the spontaneity of its source within the self's freedom. In the waking state,
to which he would be released after the world has been constructed as shown in
the dream, only the final product and not its genesis is apparent to consciousness.
The world simply is there and is the environment on which the self depends.
Viewed from its outcome, the process that brings world and self before
consciousness appears in reverse order. Limitation is now the most immediate, and
therefore primary, factor, whereas the self is once removed and its actions
merely serve to provide for accommodation within the imposed limits. This is
the daytime world of wakeful, pragmatic concerns, a world as unyielding in its
otherness as the rock outside the cave, only the self has now become part of it
and the magic cavern is lost from view. The gold is well hidden but it remains
at the core, guarded by walls of stone and some, like the miner in the central
chapter, prove capable of braving the barrier(111). Fountain as the symbol of the freedom of Self:
In contrast to the cave, a marked absence of limitation is the most pronounced feature
in this phase of the dream. Nothing could better embody the elusive concept of
self-enactment than the image of a fountain shaping itself by the unmitigated
power of its own spontaneous energy. This fountain gives itself its own rule
and it progresses unimpeded by any limitation that would curtail the domain of
its authority. The rocks are there but they are at some distance and in no
position to offer resistance to the fountain's activity, which freely extends outward,
enacting its own being just as the self would in its capacity of moral agent(112). Heinrich’s “passivity”: The fountain is
central but right beside it are both Heinrich and the blue flower. Next to the
fountain's pure activity, Heinrich's utter inactivity is all the more striking.
He is completely passive, purely receptive and "sees nothing but the blue
flower" ("Er sah nichts als die blaue Blume") (I, 197, 1. 21).
It is the sort of receptivity that is only possible from the perspective of
freedom, and that perspective is certainly the one under which this world
appears, a world that holds no obstacles for the fountain's freedom of agency.
Pure activity and pure passivity are here conjoined into the active passivity
that is at the heart of the "hohere Wissenschaftslehre." Also at its
heart is Novalis' s theory of mediation, which finds its most compelling
expression in the symbol of the blue flower(112-13). The suspension of the subjective and the
objective states of the self: As Heinrich lies next to the fountain of freedom,
the heavenly sphere and all the flowers under it converge on him in the one
flower whose light blue color – the only color he sees - identifies it as a
messenger to the field of light from the dark expanse the fountain approaches.
Where the fountain of freedom emanates, there is the center where the dualism
of the self's subjective and objective moments is suspended; there also is the
center of the universe where the blue flower grows through which the infinitely
removed sphere that comprehends the world may descend upon Heinrich and confirm
this suspension in a reciprocal movement. "World is to be self,"
longs the free agent, and "I am you," comes the response as the
flower bends down toward Heinrich and opens its blue corolla to his view in
order to display a human face at the center(114). Kingsohr’s tale: Once again, Novalis has
Eros forge the bond that links self to world and world to self. To be sure,
that union has not yet been consummated and is still only a promise, but the
power capable of bringing this event about has been identified. The story of the
dream's fulfillment, which is also the story of Eros, is told in Klingsohr's
tale. It is really more of an allegorical myth than a fairy tale, a product of
his youth, as Kling so hr claims, a product of our culture's youth, as the
variation on a Platonic theme makes evident. However, it is a variation quite
new and youthful in its own right because, aside from the figure of Eros, it
creates its own mythology against an entirely different philosophical background(115). Heinrich vs Heinrich’s father: The father
knows himself only as a determined being, an individual whose link to others
must be the determinant he has in common with them. Images, be they dreamed,
thought, or expressed in words, can have validity for him only because they
reflect this common ground of reference, which is the concrete givenness of the
objective world as a causal nexus of necessity. He, too, had had a dream as a
young man, quite similar to Heinrich's; he, too, had seen a flower, but he had
also been quick to associate this vision with the world from where he had come,
a world to which he returned after his dream with thoughts of marriage and
eager to establish himself in his craft. In his language a flower is a flower
and a human face a human face. He is right, of course, because in the order of
causal relationships, according to which our rational faculty understands the
information received by sense perception, flowers cannot have a human face. He
never dreamed his dream to an end since the waking world intruded too soon, and
when he thinks or says "flower," it means something else than it does
for Heinrich. The reason for this discrepancy is not that their words refer to
different objects but that those words refer the same object to different
levels of self-consciousness; Heinrich's refer to a self that is free in determining
its activity but not awake, the father's to a self that is awake but not free.
If both are to understand one another, it can only be with reference to a self
that is conscious of its freedom in a waking state, and the self attains this
sort of consciousness as a moral being(116). Klingsohr’s Tale demonstrating the moral law:
The law according to which the self forms its images while dreaming is its own,
and if that law is to have more than purely subjective applicability, it must be
one all selves hold in common. The moral law is such a law, and how the world
appears from its vantage point is a dream whose many versions all individuals may
share. The act of dreaming is itself equivalent to the activity depicted in the
cave-phase of Heinrich's dream; before he shares it, he will have to realize its
last phase, which he does in the chapters that follow. Klingsohr's tale
concludes this process with a demonstration of the poet's craft that enables
those who have mastered it to speak the language of waking dreams and reclaim
the imagination's sovereignty over the world. The poet speaks with moral
authority, not as a moralizing pedant but as a free individual who invites
everyone else to share his perspective of the world. His statements are those
of a free agent and they proclaim the sovereignty of the imagination because
they address an audience of peers capable of following his invitation and of
acknowledging that sovereignty in themselves. Klingsohr's tale is a commentary
on the liberating power of the spirit of poesy, a commentary vouched for by his
own practice as he tells the story to a receptive circle of listeners. They,
however, remain out of sight because those listeners are we ourselves, and it
is actually we who are asked to realize the truth of Novalis's poetics as he
has Klingsohr present them to us(116). 4. A
Few Passages from The Text Chapter I “A Sweeter slumber”: He dreamed that he was sitting on the soft
turf by the margin of a fountain, whose waters flowed into the air, and seemed
to vanish in it. Dark blue rocks with various colored veins rose in the
distance. The daylight around him was milder and clearer than usual; the sky
was of a sombre blue, and free from clouds. But what most attracted his notice,
was a tall, light-blue flower, which stood nearest the fountain, and touched it
with its broad, glossy leaves. Around it grew numberless flowers of varied hue,
filling the air with the richest perfume. But he saw the blue flower alone, and
gazed long upon it with inexpressible tenderness. He at length was about to
approach it, when it began to move, and change its form. The leaves increased
their beauty, adorning the growing stem. The flower bended towards him, and
revealed among its leaves a blue, outspread collar, within which hovered a
tender face. His delightful astonishment was increasing with this singular
change, when suddenly his mother's voice awoke him, and he found himself in his
parents' room, already gilded by the morning sun. He was too happy to be angry
at the sudden disturbance of his sleep. He bade his mother a kind good morning,
and returned her hearty embrace(11). Father’s World: His father worked on
industriously, and said; "Dreams are froth, let the learned think what
they will of them; and you will do well to turn your attention from such
useless and hurtful speculations. The times when Heavenly visions were seen in
dreams have long past by, nor can we understand the state of mind, which those
chosen men, of whom the Bible speaks, enjoyed. Dreams, as well as other human
affairs, must have been of a different nature then. In the age in which we
live, there is no direct intercourse with Heaven. Old histories and writings
are now the only fountains, from which we can draw, as far as is needful, a knowledge
of the spiritual world; and instead of express revelations, the Holy Ghost now
speaks to us immediately through the understandings of wise and sensible men,
and by the lives and fate of those most distinguished for their piety. I have
never been much edified by the visions, which are now seen; nor do I place much
confidence in the wonders. which our divines relate about them. Yet let every
one, who can, be edified by them; I would not cause any one to err in his
faith."(12) Heinrich’s View on Dream: “ˇDreams appear
to me to break up the monotony and even tenor of life, to serve as a recreation
to the chained fancy. They mingle together all the scenes and fancies of life,
and change the continual earnestness of age, into the merry sports of childhood.
Were it not for dreams, we should certainly grow older; and though they be not
given us immediately from above; yet they should be regarded as Heavenly gifts,
as friendly guides, in our pilgrimage to the holy tomb. I am sure that the
dream, which I have had this night, has been no profitless occurrence in my
life; for I feel that it has, like some vast wheel, caught hold of my soul, and
is hurrying me along with it in its mighty revolutions."(12) Father’s Dream: “ˇAt last he showed me a
chamber, where I could pass the night, for it was too late for me to return to
the city. I soon fell asleep and dreamed.—I thought that I was passing out of
the gates of my native city. It seemed to me that I was going to get something
done, but where, and what, I did not know. I took the road to Hartz, and walked
quickly along, as merry as if going to a festival. I did not keep the road, but
cut across through wood and valley, till I came to a lofty mountain. From its
top I gazed on the golden fields around me, beheld Thuringia in the distance, and
was so situated, that no other mountain could obstruct my view. Opposite lay
the Hartz with its dusky hills. Castles, convents, and whole districts were
embraced in the prospect. My ideas were all clear and distinct. I thought of
the old man, in whose house I was sleeping; and my visit seemed like some
occurrence of past years. I soon saw an ascending path leading into the
mountain, and I followed it. After some time I came to a large cave; there sat
a very old man in a long garment, before an iron table, gazing incessantly upon
a wondrously beautiful maiden, that stood before him hewn in marble. His beard
had grown through the iron table, and covered his feet. His features were
serious, yet kind, and put me in mind of a head by one of the old masters,
which my host had shown me in the evening. The cave was filled with glowing
light. While I was looking at the old man, my host tapped me on the shoulder,
took my hand, and led me through many long paths, till we saw a mild light shining
in the distance, like the dawn of day. I hastened to it, and soon found myself in
a green plain; but there was nothing about it to remind me of Thuringia. Giant trees,
with their large, glossy leaves, spread their shade far and wide. The air was
very hot, yet not oppressive. Around me flowers and fountains were springing
from the earth. Among the former there was one that particularly pleased me,
and to which all the others seemed to do homageˇAll I recollect is, that my
feelings were so wrought up, that for a time I forgot all about my guide. When
at length I turned towards him, I noticed that he was looking at me
attentively, and that he met me with a pleasant smile. I do not remember how I
came from that place. I was again on the top of the mountain; my guide stood by
my side and said, 'You have seen the wonder of the world. It lies in your power
to become the happiest being in the world, and, besides that, a celebrated man.
Remember well what I tell you. Come on St. John's day, towards evening, to this
place, and when you have devoutly prayed to God to interpret this vision, the highest
earthly lot will be yours. Also take notice particularly of a little blue
flower, which you will find above here; pluck it, and commit yourself humbly to
heavenly guidance.' I then dreamed that I was among most splendid scenes and
noble men, ravished by the swift changing objects that met my eyes. How fluent
were my words! how free my tongue! How music swelled its strains! Afterwards
everything became dull and insignificant as usual. I saw your mother standing
before me, with a kind and modest look. A bright-looking child was in her arms.
She reached it to me; it gradually grew brighter; at length it raised itself on
its dazzling white wings, took us both in its arms, and soared so high with us,
that the earth appeared like a plate of gold, covered with beautifully wrought
carving. I only recollect, that, after this vision, the flower, the old man,
and the mountain appeared before me again. I awoke soon after, much agitated by
vehement love. I bade farewell to my hospitable friend, who urged me to repeat
my visit often. I promised to do so, and should have kept my promise, had I not
shortly after left Rome for Augsburg, my mind being much excited by the scenes
I had witnessed."(14) Chapter II Merchant’s words on poetry: “In the art of
poetry, on the contrary, there is nothing tangible to be met with. It creates
nothing with tools and hands. The eye and the ear perceive it not; for the mere
hearing of the words has no real influence in this secret art. It is all internal;
and as other artists fill the external senses with agreeable emotions, so in
like manner the poet fills the internal sanctuary of the mind with new,
wonderful, and pleasing thoughts. He knows how to awaken at pleasure the secret
powers within us, and by words gives us force to see into an unknown and
glorious world. Ancient and future times, innumerable men, strange countries,
and the most singular events rise up within us, as from deep hiding places, and
tear us away from the known present. We hear strange words and know not their
import. The language of the poet stirs, up a magic power; even ordinary words
flow forth in charming melody, and intoxicate the fast-bound listener."(18) Chapter III The hermit showed him his books. They
consisted of old histories and poems. Henry turned over the leaves of these
huge and beautifully illuminated works, and his curiosity was strongly excited
by the short lines of the verses, the titles, some of the passages, and the
beautiful pictures which appeared here and there, like embodied words, to
assist the imagination of the reader. The Hermit observed his inward gratification
and explained these singular pictures. All the varied scenes of life were represented
among them. Battles, funereal trains, marriage ceremonies, shipwrecks, caves,
and palaces, kings, heroes, priests, men in singular costume, strange beasts, were
delineated in different alternations and connexions. Henry could not sate
himself with gazing at them, and wished nothing more than to remain with the
hermit, who irresistibly attracted him, and to be instructed by him in these
books. In the mean time the old man asked whether there were any more caves;
and the hermit told him, that there were some extensive ones near, to which he
would accompany him. The old man was ready; and the hermit, who observed
Henry's interest in the books, induced him to remain, and to examine them more
closely during their absence. Henry was glad to stay where the books were, and
thanked the hermit heartily for his permission to do so. He turned over their
leaves with indescribable pleasure. At last a book fell into his hands, written
in a foreign tongue, which appeared to him somewhat like Latin or Italian. He
longed greatly to know the language, for the book pleased him greatly, though
he did not understand a syllable of it. It had no title; but after a little search
he found some engravings. They seemed strangely familiar to him; and on examination,
he discovered his own form quite discernible among the figures. He was terrified,
and thought that he must be dreaming; but after having examined them again and
again, he could no longer doubt their perfect resemblance. He could hardly
trust his senses, when in one of the pictures he discovered the cave, the
hermit, and the old man by his side. By degrees he found among the pictures the
girl from the holy land, his parents, the count and countess of Thuringia, his
friend the court chaplain; and many others of his acquaintance; yet their dress
was changed, and seemed to belong to another period. There were many forms he
could not call by name, but which nevertheless seemed known to him. He saw the
exact portraits of himself, in different situations. Towards the end he
appeared larger and nobler. The guitar rested in his arms, and the countess
handed him a wreath. He saw himself at the imperial court, on shipboard, now in
warm embrace with a beautifully formed and lovely girl, now in battle with
fierce-looking men, and again in friendly conversation with Saracens and Moors.
He was frequently accompanied by a man of grave aspect. He felt a deep reverence
for this august form, and was glad to see himself arm in arm with him. The last
pictures were obscure and incomprehensible; yet some of the shapes of his dream
surprised him with the most intense rapture. The conclusion of the book was
wanting. Henry was very sorrowful, and wished for nothing more earnestly than
to be able to read and thoroughly understand the book. He looked over the
pictures repeatedly, and was almost abashed when the company returned. A
strange sort of shame overcame him. He did not suffer himself to make known his
discovery, and merely asked the Hermit generally about its title and language.
He learned that it was written in the Provence tongue "It is long since I
have read it," said the Hermit; "I do not now remember its contents
very distinctly. As far as I recollect, it is a romance, relating the wonderful
fortune of a poet's life, wherein the art of poesy is represented and extolled
in all its various relations. The conclusion is wanting to the manuscript,
which I brought with me from Jerusalem, where I found it left with a friend,
and took it, away, an a memorial of him."(49) Chapter VI Heinrich’s Dream after meeing Matilda: It
was late in the evening when the company separated. "The first and only
feast of my life," said Henry, when he was alone, and his mother had
retired wearied to rest. "Do I not feel as I felt in that dream about the
blue flower? What peculiar connexion is there between Matilda and that flower?
That face, which bowed towards me from the petals, was Matilda's heavenly
countenance, and I also now remember that I saw it in that book. But why did it
not there thus move my heart? O! she is the visible spirit of song, the worthy
daughter of her father. She will dissolve me into music. She will become my
inmost soul, the guardian spirit of my holy fire. What an eternity of faithful
love do I feel within me? I was born only to revere her, to serve her forever,
to think of and to feel her. Does there not belong a peculiar, undivided existence
to her contemplation and worship? Am I the happy one, whose being may be the
echo, the mirror of her's? It is not owing to chance that I have seen her at
the end of my journey, that a happy feast has encircled the highest moment of
my life. It could not have been otherwise; for does not her presence render
every thing a feast?" He stepped to the window. The choir of the stars
stood in the dusky sky, and in the east a white glimmer announced the coming
day. Full of rapture, Henry exclaimed, "Ye eternal stars, ye silent
wanderers, I call upon you as witnesses of my sacred oath. For Matilda will I
live, and eternal constancy shall bind her to my heart. The morning of eternal
day is also opening for me. The night is past. I kindle myself to the rising
sun, for an inextinguishable offering." Henry was heated, and only fell asleep
late in the morning. The thoughts of his soul flowed together into a wonderful
dream. A deep blue stream glimmered from the green plains. A boat was floating
upon the smooth surface. Matilda was sitting in it, and steering. She was
adorned with garlands, singing a simple song, and looked over to him with sweet
sadness. His bosom was oppressed, he knew not why. The sky was clear; the flood
quiet. Her heavenly face was reflected in the waves. Suddenly the boat began to
whirl. He cried out to her earnestly. She smiled and laid down the helm in the
boat which continued its whirling. He was seized with overwhelming fear. He plunged
into the stream, but could not move, and was hurried along. She beckoned to him,
as if she had something to tell him, and though the boat was fast filling with water,
yet she smiled with unspeakable tenderness, and looked down serenely into the abyss.
Suddenly it drew her in. A gentle breath of air passed over the stream, which, flowed
on as quiet and glittering as ever. His intense anxiety robbed Henry of all consciousness.
His heart no longer throbbed. On recovering, his senses, he was on the dry
land. He must have floated a long distance. It was a strange country. He knew
not what had happened to him. His mind had vanished. Thoughtlessly he plunged
deeper and deeper into the country. He was excessively weary. A little spring
gushed from the side of a hill, sounding like the music of bells. In his hand
he caught a few drops, and with them wetted his parched lips. The terrible
occurrence lay behind him like a fearful dream. He walked on farther and
farther;--flowers and trees spoke to him(56-57). Chapter VII Klingsohr’s Lessons on Poetry: “ˇNothing
is more indispensable to the poet, than insight into the nature of every
occupation, acquaintance with the means by which every object may be attained,
and the power of fitly regulating the presence of the spirit according to time
and circumstances. Inspiration without intellect is useless and dangerous; and
the poet will be able to perform few wonders, when he is astonished by
wonders." On Poet: "But is not an implicit
faith in man's dominion over destiny indispensable to the poet?" "Certainly indispensable, because he
cannot represent fate to himself in any other light, when he maturely reflects
upon it. But how distant is this calm certainty from that anxious doubt, which
proceeds from the blind fear of superstition! And thus also the steady,
animating warmth of a poetic mind is exactly the reverse of the wild heat of a
sickly heart; The one is poor, overwhelming, and transient; the other perfectly
distinguishes all forms, favors the culture of the most manifold relations, and
is in itself eternal. The youthful poet cannot be too cool and considerate. A
far-reaching, attentive, and quiet disposition belongs to the true, melodious
ease of address. It becomes a confused prattling, when a violent storm is
raging in the breast; and the attention is lost in a trembling emptiness of
thought. Once more I repeat it; the true mind is like the light; even as calm
and sensitive, as elastic and penetrating, as powerful and as imperceptibly
active, as that costly element, which with its native regularity scatters
itself upon all objects, and exhibits them in charming variety. The poet is
pure steel, as sensitive as a brittle thread of glass, as hard as the
unyielding flint."(59) On Poetry again: "Poetry,"
continued Klingsohr, "will be cultivated strictly as an art. As mere enjoyment
it ceases to be poetry. The poet must not run about unoccupied the whole day in
chase of figures and feelings. That is the very reverse of the proper method. A
pure, open mind, dexterity in reflection and contemplation, and ability to put
forth all the faculties in a mutually animating effort, and to keep them
so,--these are the requisites of our art. If you will commit yourself to my
care, no day shall pass in which you shall not add stores to your knowledge,
and obtain some useful views. The city is rich in artists of all descriptions.
There are some experienced statesmen and educated merchants here. One can get
acquainted with all ranks without much difficulty, with people of all pursuits,
and with all social circumstances and requirements. I will with pleasure
instruct you in the mechanical part of our art, and read its most remarkable
productions with you. You may share Matilda's hours of instruction, and she
will willingly teach you to play the guitar. Each occupation will usher in the
rest; and when you have thus well spent the day, the conversation and pleasures
of a social evening, and the views of the beautiful landscapes around, will continually
renew to you the calmest enjoyment."(59)
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