Novalis's Heinrich von Ofterdingen

 

 

 

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: ¡°¡¦Dreams 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: ¡°¡¦At 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 homage¡¦All 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: ¡°¡¦Nothing 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)

 

Related Bianries

  • Heinrich von Ofterdingen.pdf The Text
  • Chapter 8 (Theory & History of Literature) Geza v...iversity of Minnesota Press (1987).pdf A Book Chapter on Heinrich von Ofterdingen