The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. IV by Editor in Chief: Kuno Francke

E >> Editor in Chief: Kuno Francke >> The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. IV

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

APHORISMS[33]

By NOVALIS

TRANSLATED BY FREDERIC H. HEDGE

Where no gods are, spectres rule.

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

Germanity is genuine popularity, and therefore an ideal.

Where children are, there is the golden age.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All faith is miraculous, and worketh miracles.

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

The greatest of miracles is a virtuous act.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man is the Messiah of Nature.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There may be mathematicians of the first magnitude who cannot cipher.
One can be a great cipherer without a conception of mathematics.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HYMN TO NIGHT (1800)

By NOVALIS

TRANSLATED BY PAUL B. THOMAS

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

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

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

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

"THOUGH NONE THY NAME SHOULD CHERISH" [34]

Though none Thy Name should cherish,
My faith shall be the same,
Lest gratitude should perish
And earth be brought to shame.
With meekness Thou did'st suffer
The pangs of death for me,
With joy then I would offer
This heart for aye to Thee.

[Illustration: #THE QUEEN OF NIGHT# _From the painting by Moritz von
Schwind_]

I weep with strong emotion
That death has been Thy lot,
And yet that Thy devotion
Thy people have forgot.
The blessings of salvation
Thy perfect love has won,
Yet who in any nation
Regards what Thou hast done 3

With love Thou hast protected
Each man his whole life through;
Though all Thy care rejected,
No less would'st Thou be true.
Such love as Thine must vanquish
The proudest soul at last,
'Twill turn to Thee in anguish
And to Thy knees cling fast.

Thine influence hath bound me;
Oh, if it be Thy will,
Be evermore around me,
Be present with me still!
At length too shall the others
Look up and long for rest,
And all my loving brothers
Shall sink upon Thy breast.

TO THE VIRGIN[35]

A thousand hands, devoutly tender,
Have sought thy beauty to express,
But none, oh Mary, none can render,
As my soul sees, thy loveliness.

I gaze till earth's confusion fadeth
Like to a dream, and leaves behind
A heaven of sweetness which pervadeth
My whole rapt being--heart and mind.

FRIEDRICH HOeLDERLIN

* * * * *

HYPERION'S SONG OF FATE [36] (1799)

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

EVENING PHANTASIE[36] (1799)

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

[Illustration: #FRIEDRICH HOeLDERLIN# E. HADER]

The sailor too puts into the haven now,
In distant cities cheerily dies away
The busy tumult; in the arbor
Gleams the festal repast of friendship.

But whither I? In labor, for slight reward
We mortals live; in alternate rest and toil
Contentment dwells; but why then sleeps not
Hid in my bosom the thorn unsparing?

The ev'ning heaven blooms as with springtime's hue;
Uncounted bloom the roses, the golden world
Seems wrapt in peace; oh, bear me thither,
Purple-wrought clouds! And may for me there

Both love and grief dissolve in the joyous light!
But see, as if dispelled by the foolish prayer,
The wonder fades! 'Tis dark, and lonely
Under the heaven I stand as erstwhile.

Come then to me, soft Sleep. Overmuch requires
The heart; and yet thou too at the last shalt fade,
Oh youth, thou restless dream-pursuer!
Peaceful and happy shall age then follow.

LUDWIG TIECK

* * * * *

PUSS IN BOOTS (1797)

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

TRANSLATED BY LILLIE WINTER, B.A.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

THE KING

THE PRINCESS, _his daughter_

PRINCE NATHANIEL _of Malsinki_

LEANDER, _Court scholar_

HANSWURST, _Court fool_

_A Groom of the Chamber_

_The Cook_

LORENZ }
BARTHEL } _Peasant brothers_
GOTTLIEB }

_Hinze, a tom-cat_

_A Tavern-keeper_

KUNZ }
MICHEL } _Peasants_

_A Bugbear_

_A Peace-maker_

_The Playwright_

_A Soldier_

_Two Hussars_

_Two Lovers_

_Servants_

_Musicians_

_A Peasant_

_The Prompter_

_A Shoemaker_

_A Historian_

FISCHER

MUeLLER

BOeTTICHER

LEUTNER

WIESENER

WIESENER'S NEIGHBOR

_Elephants_

_Lions_

_Bears_

_An officer_

_Eagles and other birds_

_A rabbit_

_Partridges_

_Jupiter_

_Terkaleon_

_The Machinist_

_Spirits_

_Monkeys_

_The Public_.

[Illustration: #LUDWIG TIECK# VOGEL VON VOGELSTEIN]

PROLOGUE

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

FISCHER, MUeLLER, SCHLOSSER, BOeTTICHER, _in the pit_

FISCHER.

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

MUeLLER.

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

FISCHER.

Do you know the play?

MUeLLER.

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

SCHLOSS.

Why, is it an opera?

FISCHER.

Anything but that; the bill says: _A Fairy-tale for Children_.

SCHLOSS.

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

FISCHER.

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

MUeLLER.

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

FISCHER.

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

MUeLLER.

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

SCHLOSS.

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

FISCHER.

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

SCHLOSS.

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

[_Leutner pushes himself through the crowd_.]

LEUTNER.

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

MUeLLER.

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

[_The music begins_.]

LEUTNER.

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

MANY VOICES.

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

LEUTNER.

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

FISCHER.

I say, who's playing that part?

LEUTNER.

The strange actor, of course, the great man.

MUeLLER.

Indeed? But how can they possibly play such nonsense?

LEUTNER.

For a change, the author thinks.

FISCHER.

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

MUeLLER.

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

LEUTNER.

I am just as impatient as all of you.

FISCHER.

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

MUeLLER.

I feel like making a noise.

LEUTNER.

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

WIESENER (_on the other side_).

What does this pounding mean?

LEUTNER.

That's to rescue good taste.

WIESENER.

Well, then I won't be the last, either. (_He stamps_.)

VOICES.

Be quiet, or you can't hear the music. (_All are stamping_.)

SCHLOSS.

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

ALL.

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

A CANDLE-SNUFFER.

Gentlemen, shall the police be sent in?

LEUTNER.

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

THE PLAYWRIGHT (_behind the scenes_).

The play will begin immediately.

MUeLLER.

No play--we want no play--we want good taste--

ALL.

Good taste! good taste!

PLAYWR.

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

SCHLOSS.

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

PLAYWR.

Consider a young beginner--

SCHLOSS.

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

PLAYWR.

What sort? What kind?

MUeLLER.

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

[_The Author comes out from behind the curtain_.]

PLAYWR.

Gentlemen--

ALL.

Is that the author?

FISCHER.

He doesn't look much like an author.

SCHLOSS.

Impertinent fellow!

MUeLLER.

His hair isn't even trimmed.

PLAYWR.

Gentlemen-pardon my boldness.

FISCHER.

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

PLAYWR.

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

FISCHER.

He doesn't talk badly.

MUeLLER.

He's more courteous than I thought.

SCHLOSS.

He has respect for the public, after all.

PLAYWR.

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

FISCHER.

I am sorry for him.

MUeLLER.

A good fellow!

PLAYWR.

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

LEUTNER.

Well, clap, then! (_All clap_.)

PLAYWR.

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

[Illustration: #PUSS IN BOOTS# MORITZ VON SCHWIND]

MUeLLER.

That's certainly true!

LEUTNER.

He's right--that man.

SCHLOSS.

Bravo! Bravo!

ALL.

Bravo! Bravo! (_They clap_.)

PLAYWR.

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

ALL.

Bravo! Bravo!

VOICES FROM THE GALLERY.

_Da capo!_--

[_All are laughing. The music begins again; meanwhile the curtain
rises_.]

ACT I

_Small room in a peasant's cottage_

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

LORENZ.

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

LEUTNER (_in the pit_).

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

MUeLLER.

But I understand everything perfectly well.

LEUTNER.

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

MUeLLER.

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

LEUTNER.

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

BARTHEL.

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

GOTTLIEB.

Yes, to be sure.

SCHLOSS.

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

LORENZ.

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

GOTTLIEB.

Good-bye.

[_Exit the brothers_.]

GOTTLIEB (_alone_).

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

[_He walks up and down, lost in thought_.]

MUeLLER.

Well, you see now, don't, you, that it's going to be a touching
picture of family life? The peasant is poor and without money; now, in
the direst need, he will sell his faithful pet to some susceptible
young lady, and in the end that will be the foundation of his good
fortune. Probably it is an imitation of Kotzebue's _Parrot_; here the
bird is replaced by a cat and the play runs on of itself.

FISCHER.

Now that it's working out this way, I am satisfied too.

HINZE, the tom-cat (_rises, stretches, arches his back, yawns, then
speaks_).

My dear Gottlieb--I really sympathize with you.

GOTTLIEB (_astonished_).

What, puss, you are speaking?

THE CRITICS (_in the pit_).

The cat is talking? What does that mean, pray?

FISCHER.

It's impossible for me to get the proper illusion here.

MUeLLER.

Rather than let myself be disappointed like this I never want to see
another play all my life.

HINZE.

Why should I not be able to speak, Gottlieb?

GOTTLIEB.

I should not have suspected it; I never heard a cat speak in all my
life.

HINZE.

Because we do not join in every conversation, you think we're nothing
but dogs.

GOTTLIEB.

I think your only business is to catch mice.

HINZE.

If we had not, in our intercourse with human beings, got a certain
contempt for speech, we could all speak.

GOTTLIEB.

Well, I'll own that! But why don't you give any one an opportunity to
discover you?

HINZE.

That's to avoid responsibility, for if once the power of speech were
inflicted on us so-called animals, there wouldn't be any joy left in
the world. What isn't the dog compelled to do and learn! The horse!
They are foolish animals to show their intelligence, they must give
way entirely to their vanity; we cats still continue to be the freest
race because, with all our skill, we can act so clumsily that human
beings quite give up the idea of training us.

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