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diff --git a/76103-0.txt b/76103-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5db37ca --- /dev/null +++ b/76103-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8913 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76103 *** + + + + + +GOETHE’S LITERARY ESSAYS + + + + +GOETHE AS A CRITIC + + +“Goethe, the greatest of modern critics, the greatest critic of all +times.”--SAINTE-BEUVE. + +“That great and supreme critic.”--MATTHEW ARNOLD. + +“Goethe, the most widely receptive of all critics.”--JAMES RUSSELL +LOWELL. + +“Goethe, the master of all modern spirits.”--TAINE. + +“The perusal of his Works would show that Criticism is also a science +of which he is master; that if ever a man had studied Art in all its +branches and bearings, from its origin in the depths of the creative +spirit to its minutest finish on the canvas of the painter, on the +lips of the poet, or under the finger of the musician, he was that +man.”--CARLYLE. + +“He is also a great critic; yet he always said the best he could about +an author. Good critics are rarer than good authors.”--TENNYSON. + +“The view of _Hamlet_ scattered throughout the book [_Wilhelm Meister_] +is not so much criticism as high poetry. And what else except a +poem can be born when a poet intuitively presents anew a work of +poetry?”--FRIEDRICH SCHLEGEL. + +“I shall die ungoethed, I doubt, so far as Poetry goes; I always +believe he was Critic and Philosopher.”--EDWARD FITZGERALD. + +“For the Goethe of _Faust_, of the great lyrics, and of some other +things, I have almost unlimited admiration; but for the critical Goethe +I feel very much less.”--GEORGE SAINTSBURY. + +“Goethe is the supreme hero of intellectual humanity.”--REMY DE +GOURMONT. + +“Goethe, as usual, must be pronounced to have the last word of reason +and wisdom, the word which comprehends most of the truth of the +matter.”--LORD MORLEY. + + + + + GOETHE’S + LITERARY ESSAYS + + A SELECTION IN ENGLISH + ARRANGED BY + + J. E. SPINGARN + + WITH A FOREWORD BY + VISCOUNT HALDANE + + [Illustration] + + NEW YORK + HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY + 1921 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY + HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC. + + PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY + THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY + RAHWAY, N. J. + + + + +FOREWORD + +By VISCOUNT HALDANE + + +Of Goethe Sainte-Beuve held that he was the “king of criticism.” +Sainte-Beuve was among the most competent of judges on such a point, +and Matthew Arnold has endorsed his conclusion. The reason for it is +not far to seek. Goethe’s gifts as a critic fell within a large whole +of knowledge which was his in a degree for which we must look back over +two thousand years to Aristotle if we wish to find a rival. He wrote +lyrics that are supreme in their kind. His capacity for observation of +nature was, as Helmholtz has pointed out, of the first order. Although +he hated philosophy, he had, none the less, a fine instinct for great +metaphysical conceptions. Spinoza and Kant both made appeal to him, and +the appeal was responded to from the depths of his nature. The world +has seen no poem like _Faust_, with the exquisite perfection of the +“Dedication” and the lyrical outbursts with which the first part is +studded, set in a structure which signifies a profound conception of +life as a whole, into which far-reaching reflection has entered. The +second part of the drama is as great in this latter regard as is the +first part in its occasional exhibitions of the purest lyrical gift. + +Goethe’s work was uneven, as was his life. That is what we must expect +from the variety which both contained. But through each a great purpose +is obviously in process of continuous realization, a purpose which +never flags, of presenting the world as a place where man may work +out what is directed towards the highest and belongs to what is above +Time. It is always the effort that counts, and not any result outside, +conceived abstractly and apart from the effort. The quality of the +struggle “to conquer life and freedom daily anew” is what constitutes +the victory. We are apt to remain with Goethe’s poetry and to content +ourselves with the enjoyment of its perfection. But that is to miss +half the lesson which this man, one of the very greatest sons the earth +ever bore, has to teach us. It is his outlook on life as a whole which +we must master if we would learn for ourselves what freedom from what +is narrow means with him. And this outlook we find at least as much in +his criticism as in his lyrics. We have to turn to the _Autobiography_, +to _Meister_, and to the _Prose Sayings_, if we would find the other +half. Beyond these books, too, there remains much else which it would +occupy years for the student to discover for himself unaided. + +That is why a book such as that to which these lines are written by way +of preface may prove a source of help and inspiration to the general +reader. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + I. THE THEORY OF ART PAGE + + On German Architecture 3 + + Introduction to the _Propylæa_ 15 + + Upon the Laocoon 22 + + The Collector and his Friends 36 + + On Truth and Probability in Works of Art 51 + + Simple Imitation of Nature, Manner, Style 59 + + Ancient and Modern 65 + + Notes on Dilettantism 71 + + II. THE THEORY OF LITERATURE + + The Production of a National Classic 83 + + Goethe’s Theory of a World Literature 89 + + On Epic and Dramatic Poetry 100 + + Supplement to Aristotle’s _Poetics_ 104 + + On the German Theatre 109 + + Ludwig Tieck’s _Dramaturgic Fragments_ 126 + + On Didactic Poetry 130 + + Superstition and Poetry 133 + + The Methods of French Criticism 134 + + On Criticism 140 + + III. ON SHAKESPEARE + + Wilhelm Meister’s Critique of _Hamlet_ 145 + + Shakespeare ad Infinitum 174 + + The First Edition of _Hamlet_ 190 + + _Troilus and Cressida_ 195 + + IV. ON OTHER WRITERS + + Goethe as a Young Reviewer 199 + + Byron’s _Manfred_ 202 + + Byron’s _Don Juan_ 205 + + Calderon’s _Daughter of the Air_ 208 + + Molière’s _Misanthrope_ 212 + + Old German Folksongs 213 + + Folksongs again Commended 220 + + Laurence Sterne 222 + + The English Reviewers 224 + + German Literature in Goethe’s Youth 226 + + V. EXTRACTS FROM THE CONVERSATIONS WITH ECKERMANN + + The Universality of Poetry, 249; Poetry and + Patriotism, 251; Poetry and History, 253; + Originality, 255; Personality in Art, 258; + Subject-Matter of Poetry, 259; The Influence of + Environment, 261; Culture and Morals, 263; + Classic and Romantic, 263; Taste, 264; Style, + 265; Intellect and Imagination, 266; Definition + of Poetry, 266; Definition of Beauty, 266; + Architecture and Music, 267; Primitive Poetry, + 267; _Weltliteratur_, 267; French Critics, 268; + The Construction of a Good Play, 268; Dramatic + Unities 270; The Theatre, 271; Acting, 271; + Dramatic Situations, 272; Management of the + Theatre, 272; Menander, 273; Calderon, 273; + Molière, 273; Shakespeare, 275; A. W. Schlegel’s + _Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature_, + 276; The French Romanticists, 277; Victor + Hugo, 279; The “Idea” of _Tasso_ and _Faust_, + 280; Schiller, 282; _Edinburgh Review_, 283; + Byron, 283; Scott, 286. + + APPENDIX + + I. On the Selection and Translation of the Essays + in this Volume 291 + + II. On the Chronology of Goethe’s Critical Studies 295 + + INDEX 301 + + + + +THE THEORY OF ART + + + + +ON GERMAN ARCHITECTURE + +(1773) + +VON DEUTSCHER BAUKUNST + +D. M. + +ERVINI A STEINBACH + + +As I wandered about at your grave, noble Erwin,[1] in order to pour +out my veneration for you at the sacred spot itself, I looked for the +stone which bore this inscription: “Anno Domini 1318, XVI. Kal. Febr. +obiit Magister Ervinus, Gubernator Fabricae Ecclesiae Argentinensis;” +and when I could not find it and none of your countrymen could point it +out to me, I became sad of soul, and my heart, younger, warmer, more +tender and better than it is now, vowed a memorial to you, of marble +or sandstone, as might be in my power, when I came into the peaceful +enjoyment of my fortune. + +But what need have you for a memorial! You have built the most splendid +memorial for yourself; and although the ants who crawl around there do +not trouble themselves about your name, yet you have a destiny like +that of the builder who heaped up mountains into the clouds. + +To few has it been granted to create such mighty ideas in their minds, +complete, gigantic, and consistently beautiful down to the last detail, +like trees of God; to fewer was it given to find a thousand willing +hands to work, to excavate the rocky foundation, to conjure up towering +structures upon it, and then when dying to say to their sons,--I remain +with you in the works of my genius; carry on to its completion in the +clouds what I have begun. + +What need have you for memorials! and from me! When the rabble utters +sacred names, it is either superstition or blasphemy. Those of feeble +spirit and taste will always have their head turned before your mighty +work, and genuine souls will come to know you without a guide. + +Therefore, honored man, before I venture again my patched-up bark upon +the ocean, destined as it is more likely to death than to fame and +fortune, see, here in this grove where bloom the names of my loves, I +cut yours on a beech-tree which lifts its slender trunk high in the air +like your own tower, and I hang on it too this handkerchief filled with +gifts, not unlike that sheet which was let down from the clouds to the +holy apostle, full of clean and unclean beasts; for this is full of +flowers and buds and leaves, and some dried grass and moss and fungi, +which on my walk through these uninteresting regions I coldly gathered +as a pastime for my botanical collection,--I dedicate them to death in +your honor. + + * * * * * + +What a trivial style, says the Italian, and passes by. Childishness, +lisps the Frenchman, and snaps his finger against his snuff-box à la +Grecque. What have you done that you dare to despise? + +But you, O Italian, you have let the genius of the ancients, arising +from its grave, fetter and bind your own. You crept to beg for artistic +knowledge from the splendid relics of the olden time, you patched +together palaces from these sacred ruins, and consider yourself the +guardian of the secrets of art, because you can give account of the +measurements by inch and line of enormous buildings. Had you _felt_ +more than you _measured_, had the spirit of the gigantic structures at +which you gazed come to you, you would not have imitated merely because +they did it thus and it is beautiful. But you would have created your +own designs, and there would have flowed out of them living beauty to +instruct you. + +Thus upon your shortcomings you have plastered a whitewashing, a mere +appearance of truth and beauty. The splendid effect of pillars struck +you, you wished to use them in your building and have great rows of +columns too; so you encircled St. Peter’s with marble passageways, +which lead nowhere in particular, so that mother Nature, who despises +and hates the inappropriate and the unnecessary, drove your rabble to +prostitute that splendor for public “cloaca,” with the result that you +turn away your eyes and hold your nose before the wonder of the world. + +Everything goes the same way: the whim of the artist serves the caprice +of the rich man; the writer of travels stands agape, and our beaux +esprits, called philosophers, wrest out of formless myths facts and +principles of art to be applied to the present day; and their evil +genius murders sincere men at the threshold of these mysteries. + +More harmful to the genius than examples are rules. Before his time +individual men may have worked up individual parts and aspects. He +is the first from whose mind come the parts grown together into one +ever-living whole. But a school or a rule fetters all the power of +his insight and his activity. What is it to us, you modern French +philosophical critic, that the first inventor, responding to necessity, +stuck four trunks in the ground, bound on them four poles and +covered it all with branches and moss? To determine from this what +is appropriate for our present needs is like demanding that your new +Babylon be ruled by the old despotic patriarchal father-right. + +And in addition it is not true that this house of yours is the most +primitive form in the world. That with two poles in front crossed +at the end, two in back and one lying straight between them for a +ridge-pole is, as we can notice every day in the huts in the fields and +vineyards, a far more primitive invention, from which you could hardly +abstract a principle for your pig-pen. + +Thus none of your conclusions are able to rise into the region of +truth, but all hang in the lower atmosphere of your system. You wish to +teach us what we ought to use, since what we do use, according to your +principles cannot be justified. + +The column is very dear to you, and in another clime you would be +prophet. You say: The column is the first essential ingredient of a +building, and the most beautiful. What noble elegance of form, what +pure grandeur, when they are placed in a row! Only guard against using +them inappropriately; it is their nature to be free and detached. Alas +for the unfortunates who try to join the slender shape of them to heavy +walls! + +Yet it seems to me, dear abbé, that the frequent repetition of this +impropriety of building columns into walls, so that the moderns have +even stuffed the inter-columnia of ancient temples with masonry, might +have aroused in your mind some reflections. If your ears were not deaf +to the truth, these stones would have preached a sermon to you. + +Columns are in no way an ingredient in our dwellings; they contradict +rather the style of all our buildings. Our houses have not their +origin in four columns placed in four corners. They are built out of +four walls on four sides, which take the place of columns, indeed +exclude all columns, and where these are used to patch up, they are +an encumbrance and a superfluity. This is true of our palaces and +churches, with the exception of a few cases, which I do not need to +mention. + +Thus your buildings exhibit mere surface, which, the broader it is +extended,--the higher it is raised to the sky,--the more unendurable +must become the monotony which oppresses the soul. But Genius came to +our aid, and said to Erwin von Steinbach: Diversify the huge wall, +which you are to raise heavenward, so that it may soar like a lofty, +far-spreading tree of God, which with a thousand branches, millions of +twigs, and leaves like the sand of the sea, proclaims everywhere the +glory of God, its Master. + + * * * * * + +When I went for the first time to the Minster, my head was full of the +common cant of “good taste.” From hearsay, I was an admirer of the +harmony of mass, the purity of form, and was a sworn enemy to the +confused arbitrariness of Gothic adornment. Under the term, “Gothic,” +like the article in a dictionary, I piled all the misconceptions +which had ever come into my head, of the indefinite, the unregulated, +the unnatural, the patched-up, the strung-together, the superfluous, +in art. No wiser than a people which calls the whole foreign world, +“barbarous,” everything was Gothic to me that did not fit into my +system, from the turned wooden dolls and pictures of gay colors, with +which the bourgeois nobility decorate their houses, to the dignified +relics of the older German architecture, my opinion of which, because +of some bizarre scrollwork, had been that of everybody,--“Quite buried +in ornamentation!”; consequently I had an aversion to seeing it, such +as I would have before a malformed bristling monster. + +With what unexpected emotions did the sight surprise me when I actually +saw it! An impression of grandeur and unity filled my soul, which, +because it consisted of a thousand harmonizing details, I could taste +and enjoy, but by no means understand and explain. They say it is +thus with the rapture of heaven. How often I returned to enjoy this +heavenly-earthly rapture, to embrace the stupendous genius of our older +brothers in their works. How often I returned to view from every side, +at every distance, in every light of the day, its dignity and splendor. +Hard it is for the mind of man when his brother’s work is so elevated +that he can only bow down and pray. How often has the evening twilight +refreshed with its friendly calm my eyes wearied by too much gazing; +it made countless details melt together into a complete whole and +mass, and now, simple and grand, it stood before my eyes, and, full +of rapture, my power unfolded itself both to enjoy and to understand +it at once. There was revealed to me in soft intimations the genius +of the great builder. “Why are you astonished?” He whispered to me. +“All these masses were necessary, and do you not see them in all the +older churches of my city? Only I have given harmonious proportion to +their arbitrary vastnesses. See how, over the principal entrance which +commands two smaller ones on either side, the wide circle of the window +opens which corresponds to the nave of the church and was formerly +merely a hole to let the light in; see how the bell-tower demands the +smaller windows! All this was necessary, and I designed it with beauty. +But what of these dark and lofty apertures here at the side which seem +to stand so empty and meaningless? In their bold slender forms I have +hidden the mysterious strength which was to raise both of those towers +high in the air, of which alas only one stands there sadly, without +the crown of five towers which I had planned for it, so that to it and +its royal brother the country about would do homage.” And so he parted +from me, and I fell into a sympathetic mood of melancholy, until the +birds of morning, which dwelt in its thousand orifices, greeted the sun +joyously and waked me out of my slumber. How freshly it shone in the +morning rays, how joyfully I stretched my arms towards it, surveying +its vast harmonious masses, animated by countless delicate details of +structure! as in the works of eternal Nature, every form, down to the +smallest fibril, alive, and everything contributing to the purpose of +the whole! How lightly the monstrous, solidly grounded building soared +into the air! how free and delicate everything about it, and yet solid +for eternity! To your teaching, noble genius, I owe thanks that I did +not faint and sink before your heights and depths, but that into my +soul flowed a drop of that calm rapture of the mighty soul which could +look on this creation, and like God say,--“It is good!” + + * * * * * + +And now I ought not to be angry, revered Erwin, when the German critic +and scholar, taking the cue from envious neighbors, and misjudging the +superiority of your work, belittles it by the little understood term, +“Gothic”; since he ought rather to give thanks that he can proclaim +loudly that this is German architecture,--our architecture,--whereas +the Italians cannot boast of any distinctively native style, much +less the French. And if you are not willing to admit to yourself this +superiority, at least show us then that the Goths have already built +in this style,--in which effort you may encounter some difficulties. +And finally, if you cannot demonstrate that there was a Homer already +before Homer, then we will gladly allow the story of small attempts, +successful and unsuccessful, and come reverently back to the work of +the master who first drew the scattered elements together into one +living whole. And you, my dear brother in the spirit, in your search +for truth and beauty, close your ears to the loud talk about the +plastic arts,--come, enjoy, survey. Beware of desecrating the name of +your noblest artist, and hasten here that you may enjoy and see his +glorious work. If it makes an unfavorable impression or none, then +farewell, hitch up, and take the road straight for Paris. + +But you I would accompany, dear youth, who stand there, your soul +moved, and yet unable to harmonize the contradictions which conflict +in your mind, now feeling the irresistible power of the great whole, +now calling me a dreamer for seeing beauty where you see only violence +and roughness. Do not let a misunderstanding part us, do not let +the feeble teaching of the modern standards of beauty spoil you for +vigorous though rough strength, so that finally your sickly sensibility +is able to endure only meaningless insipidities. They would have you +believe that the fine arts originated in the tendency which they impute +to us to beautify the things about us. That is not true! For in the +sense in which it could be true, it is the bourgeois and the artisans +who use the words and not the philosopher. + +Art has a long period of growth before it is beautiful, certainly +sincere and great art has, and it is often sincerer and greater +then than when it becomes beautiful. For in man there is a creative +disposition, which comes into activity as soon as his existence is +assured. As soon as he has nothing to worry about or to fear, this +semi-divinity in him, working effectively in his spiritual peace and +assurance, grasps materials into which to breathe its own spirit. Thus +the savage depicts, with strange lines and forms, ghastly figures, +lurid colors, his weapons and his body. And even if these pictures +consist of the most arbitrary and incongruous forms and lines, they +will, without any intended proportion or balance, yet have a sort of +harmony; for a unity of feeling created out of them a characteristic +whole. + +Now this characteristic art is the only genuine art. If only it +comes fresh from the inner soul, expressing the original, unique +sensibilities, untroubled, indeed unconscious of any external element, +it may spring from rough savagery or from cultivated sensitiveness, yet +it will always be complete and alive. This you can see among nations +and individual men in countless degrees. The more the soul rises to the +feeling for relations, which alone are beautiful and from eternity, +whose master-chords one can demonstrate, whose mysteries one can only +feel, in which alone the life of the divine genius seeks expression +in enraptured melodies; the more this beauty pervades the soul of a +genius so that it seems to have originated with him, so that nothing +else satisfies him, so that he can bring nothing else out of himself, +the more fortunate is the artist, the more splendid is he, and the more +reverently do we stand there and worship God’s anointed. + +From the level to which Erwin has mounted no one will drag him down. +Here stands his work; gaze at it and appreciate the deepest feelings +for truth and beauty and proportion, working out of a strong, sturdy, +rough German soul, out of the narrow, somber, priest-haunted “medium +aevum.” + +And our own “aevum”? It has neglected its genius, driven forth its +sons to collect strange excrescences for their corruption. The agile +Frenchman, who in unscrupulous fashion collects where he will, has at +least an ingenuity in working together his booty into a sort of unity; +he builds his wonderful church of the Magdalene out of Greek columns +and German arches and vaults. From one of our architects, who was +requested to design a portal for an old German church, I have seen a +model of perfect, stately antique column-work. + +How hateful our varnished doll-painters are to me I cannot express. +By their theatrical positions, their false tints, and gaily-colored +costumes, they have captured the eyes of women. But, manly Albrecht +Dürer, whom these novices laugh at, your woodcut figures are more +welcome to me. + +And you yourselves, excellent men, to whom it was given to enjoy the +highest beauty, and now come down to announce your bliss, you do +prejudice to genius. It will soar and progress on no alien wings, even +though they were the wings of the morning. Its own original powers +are those which unfold in the dreams of childhood, which grow during +the life of youth, until strong and supple like the mountain-lion he +starts out after his prey. Nature does most in training these powers, +for you pedagogues can never counterfeit the multifarious scene which +she provides for a youth to draw from and enjoy in the measure of his +present strength. + +Welcome, to you, young man, who have been born with a keen eye for form +and proportion, with the facility to practise in all forms. If then +there awakes gradually in you the joy of life, and you come to feel the +rapture which men know after work, fear and hope,--the spirited cries +of the laborer in the vineyard when the bounty of the harvest swells +his vats, the lively dance of the reaper when he has hung his idle +sickle high on the beam,--when all the powerful nerves of desire and +suffering live again more manfully in your brush, and you have striven +and suffered enough and have enjoyed enough, and are filled with +earthly beauty, and worthy to rest in the arms of the goddess, worthy +to feel on her bosom what gave new birth to the deified Hercules--then +receive him, heavenly beauty, thou mediator between gods and men, and +let him, more than Prometheus, carry down the rapture of the gods to +the earth.[2] + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Erwin von Steinbach, one of the architects of the +Strassburg Cathedral. + +[2] “What I had thought and imagined with respect to that +style of architecture, I wrote in a connected form. The first point +on which I insisted was that it should be called German, and not +Gothic; that it should be considered not foreign, but native. The +second point was that it could not be compared with the architecture +of the Greeks and Romans, because it sprang from quite another +principle. If these, living under a more favorable sky, allowed their +roof to rest upon columns, a wall, broken through, arose of its own +accord. We, however, who must always protect ourselves against the +weather, and everywhere surround ourselves with walls, have to revere +the genius who discovered the means of endowing massive walls with +variety, of apparently breaking them through, and of thus occupying +the eye in a worthy and pleasing manner on a broad surface.... If +I had been pleased to write down these views (the value of which I +will not deny) clearly and distinctly, in an intelligible style, the +paper _On German Architecture_ would then, when I published it, have +produced more effect, and would sooner have drawn the attention of +the native friends of art. But, misled by the example of Herder and +Hamann, I obscured these very simple thoughts and observations by a +dusty cloud of words and phrases, and, both for myself and others, +darkened the light which had arisen within me. However, the paper was +well received, and reprinted in Herder’s work on _German Manner and +Art_.”--Goethe, _Autobiography_ (1812). The “dear abbé” to whom Goethe +is replying in this essay is the Abbé Laugier, author of the _Essai sur +l’Architecture_ (1753). + + + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE _PROPYLÆA_ + +(1798) + + +There is no more striking sign of the decay of art than when we find +its separate provinces mixed up together. + +The arts themselves, as well as their subordinate forms, are closely +related to each other, and have a certain tendency to unite, and even +lose themselves in each other; but herein lies the duty, the merit, +the dignity of the true artist, that he knows how to separate that +department in which he labors from the others, and, so far as may be, +isolates it. + +It has been noticed that all plastic art tends towards painting, all +poetry to the drama; and this may furnish the text for some important +observations hereafter. + +The genuine, law-giving artist strives after artistic truth; +the lawless, following a blind instinct, after an appearance of +naturalness. The former leads to the highest pinnacle of art, the +latter to its lowest step. + +This is no less true of the separate arts than of art in general. +The sculptor must think and feel differently from the painter, and +must go to work differently to execute a work in relief from what he +would do with a round and complete piece of statuary. When the work +in low relief came to be brought out more and more, and by degrees +parts and figures were brought out from the ground, at last buildings +and landscapes admitted, and thus a work produced, half picture half +puppet-show, true art was on the decline; and it is to be deplored +that excellent artists have in more recent times taken this direction. + +Whenever we enunciate hereafter such maxims as we esteem true, we +shall feel a real desire, since these maxims are drawn from works of +art, to have them practically tested by artists. How seldom does one +man agree with another concerning a theoretic principle; the practical +and immediately useful is far more quickly adopted. How often do we +see artists at a loss in the choice of a subject, in the general +composition, according to their rules of art, in the arrangement of +details; the painter doubtful about the choice of his colors! Then is +the time to make trial of a principle; then will it be easier to decide +the question,--Do we by its aid come nearer to the great models, and +all that we love and prize, or does it forsake us in the empirical +confusion of an experiment not thoroughly thought out? + +If such maxims should prove useful in forwarding the culture of +artists, in guiding them among difficulties, they will also aid the +understanding, true estimation, and criticism of ancient and modern +works, and, _vice versa_, will again be discovered in the examination +of these works. This is all the more necessary, since, in spite of the +universally acknowledged excellence of the antique, individuals as well +as whole nations have in modern times often misconceived those very +things wherein the highest excellence of those works lies. + +An exact scrutiny of these will be the best means of securing us +against this evil. Let us now take, as an example, the usual course of +proceeding of the amateur in plastic art, in order to make it evident +how necessary a thorough criticism of ancient as well as modern works +is, if we would profit by it. + +No person of a fine natural perception, however uncultivated, can +see even an imperfect, incorrect cast of a fine ancient work without +being greatly impressed by it; for such a representation still gives +the idea, the simplicity and greatness of the form, in a word, the +general notion at least, such as a man of imperfect sight would see at +a distance. + +We may often observe how a strong inclination towards art is awakened +through such an imperfect reproduction. But the effect is analogous +to the object that caused it, and such beginners in art are rather +impressed with a blind and indefinite feeling than with the true worth +and significance of the object itself. It is such as these who are the +authors of the theory that a too curious critical examination destroys +our pleasure, and who decry and resist the investigation of details. + +But when by degrees their experience and knowledge become wider, and +a sharper cast in place of the imperfect one, or an original instead +of a cast comes under their observation, their satisfaction increases +with their insight, and continually advances when at last the originals +themselves, the perfect originals, become known to them. + +We are not deterred by the labyrinth of thorough examination, when the +details are of equal perfection with the whole work. Nay, we learn +that we are able to appreciate the perfect, just so far as we are in +a condition to discern the defective: to distinguish the restored +from the original parts, the copy from the model, to contemplate in +the smallest fragments the scattered excellence of the whole, is a +satisfaction that belongs only to the perfect connoisseur; and there is +a wide difference between the contemplation of an imperfect whole with +groping sense, and the seeing and seizing, with clear eye, of a perfect +one. + +He who devotes himself to any department of knowledge should aim at the +highest. Insight and Practice follow widely different paths, for in +the practical each one soon becomes aware that only a certain measure +of power is meted to him. But a far greater number of men are capable +of knowledge, of insight; we may even say that every man is so who +can deny himself, subordinate himself to objects, and does not strive +with a rigid and narrow individuality to bring in himself and his poor +one-sidedness amid the highest works of nature and art. + +To speak suitably, and with real advantage to one’s self and others, +of works of art, can properly be done only in their presence. All +depends on the sight of the object. On this it depends whether the +word by which we hope to elucidate the work has produced the clearest +impression or none at all. Hence it so often happens that the author +who writes concerning works of art deals only in generalities, whereby +indeed the mind and imagination are awakened; but of all his readers, +he only will derive satisfaction who, book in hand, examines the work +itself. + +On this account, therefore, we may in our essays often excite rather +than gratify the desire of our readers; for there is nothing more +natural than that they should wish to have before their eyes any +excellent work of which they read a minute criticism, to enjoy that +whole which is in question, and to subject to their own judgments the +opinions they hear concerning the parts. + +But whilst it is the expectation of the authors to labor in behalf +of those who are already acquainted with some works and will see +others hereafter, we shall try to do what is possible for those who +have neither the prospect nor the retrospect. We shall make mention +of copies, point out where casts from the antique or ancient works +themselves, especially when these are within easy reach, may be found, +and thus forward, as far as in us lies, a true love and knowledge of +art. + +The history of art can be based only on the highest and most complete +conception of art; only through an acquaintance with the most perfect +that man has ever been enabled to produce can the chronological and +psychological progress of mankind in art, as in other departments, +be displayed. At first a limited activity occupied itself in a dry +and dismal imitation of the insignificant as well as the significant, +then a more delicate and agreeable feeling of Nature was developed. +Afterwards, accompanied by knowledge, regularity, strength and +earnestness, aided by favorable circumstances, art rose to the highest +point, until at last it became possible for the fortunate genius who +found himself surrounded by all these auxiliaries to produce the +enchanting, the perfect. + +Unfortunately, works of art, which give themselves forth with such +facility, which make men feel themselves so agreeably, which inspire +man with clearness and freedom, suggest to the artist who would emulate +them the notion of facility in their production. The last achievement +of Art and Genius being an appearance of ease and lightness, the +imitator is tempted to make it easy for himself, and to labor at this +appearance. + +Thus, by degrees, art declines from its high estate, in the whole as +well as in details. But if we would form to ourselves a true conception +of art, we must descend to details of details, an occupation by no +means always agreeable and alluring, but for which gradually our eye’s +ready mastery of the whole will richly indemnify us. + +If we work out certain general principles through the examination of +ancient and mediæval works of art, we shall find them particularly +needful in our judgment of contemporary productions; for in forming an +estimate of living or lately deceased artists, personal considerations, +regard or dislike for individuals, popular attraction or repulsion, +are so easily mixed up, that we are still more in need of principles +in order to express a judgment of our contemporaries. The examination +can be undertaken in two ways. Arbitrary influence is diminished, and +the case is brought into a higher court. An opportunity is afforded +for proving the principles themselves as well as their application; +and even where we cannot agree, the point in dispute is clearly and +certainly ascertained. + +We especially desire that living artists, about whose works we may +perhaps have something to say, should make trial of our judgments in +this way. For every one who deserves this name is in our time called +upon to form, out of his own experience and reflection, if not a +theory, at least a certain set of receipts, by the use of which he +finds himself aided in various cases. But it must have been frequently +remarked how apt a man is, by proceeding in this way, to advance as +principles certain maxims which are commensurate with his talents, his +inclinations, his convenience. He is subject to the common lot of +mankind. How many in other departments follow the same course. But we +do not add to our culture when we simply set in motion without trouble +or difficulty what already existed in us. Every artist, like every man, +is only an individual being, and will always abide by one side; and +therefore a man should take in to himself as far as possible that which +is theoretically and practically opposed to him. The lively should look +about for strength and earnestness, the severe should keep in view +the light and agreeable, the strong should look for loveliness, the +delicate for strength, and each will thus best cultivate his peculiar +nature, while he seems to be going most out of himself. Each art +demands the whole man, the highest step of art all humanity. + +The practice of the imitative arts is mechanical, and the cultivation +of the artist begins naturally in his earliest years with the +mechanical. The rest of his education is often slighted, whereas it +should be far more carefully attended to than that of others who have +the opportunity of learning from life itself. Society soon civilizes +the unpolished; a life of business makes the most open circumspect. +Literary labors, which by means of the press come before the great +public, find resistance and correction on all sides. But the artist is +for the most part confined to a narrow studio, and has few dealings +save with those who pay for his works, with a public that is often +guided only by a certain sickly feeling, with connoisseurs who worry +him, with auctioneers who receive anything new with formulas of praise +and estimation that would not be too high for the most perfect. + + + + +UPON THE LAOCOON + +(1798) + + +A true work of art, like a true work of nature, never ceases to open +boundlessly before the mind. We examine,--we are impressed with it,--it +produces its effect; but it can never be all comprehended, still less +can its essence, its value, be expressed in words. In the present +remarks concerning the Laocoon, our object is by no means to say all +that can be said on the subject; we shall make this admirable work +rather the occasion than the subject of what we have to say. May it +soon be placed once more in a situation where all lovers of art may be +able to enjoy and speak of it, each in his own way. + +We can hardly speak adequately of a high work of art without also +speaking of art in general; since all art is comprehended in it, and +each one is able, according to his powers, to develop the universal out +of such a special case. We shall therefore begin with some remarks of a +general nature. + +All high works of art are expressions of humanity. Plastic art relates +particularly to the human form; it is of this we are now speaking. Art +has many steps, in all of which there have been admirable artists; but +a perfect work of art embraces all the qualities that are elsewhere +encountered only separately. + +The highest works of art that we know exhibit to us-- + +_Living, highly organized natures._ We look, in the first place, for a +knowledge of the human body, in its parts and proportions, inward and +outward adaptation, its forms and motions generally. + +_Character._ Knowledge of the varieties in form and action of their +parts; peculiarities are discriminated, and separately set forth. Out +of this results character, through which an important relation may be +established among separate works; and, in like manner, when a work is +put together, its parts may hold an analogous relation to each other. +The subject may be-- + +_At rest, or in motion._ A work, or its parts, may either be +self-centred, simply showing its character in a state of rest, or it +may be exhibited in movement, activity, or fullness of passionate +expression. + +_Ideal._ To the attainment of this, the artist needs a deep, +well-grounded, steadfast mind, which must be accompanied by a higher +sense,in order to comprehend the subject in all its bearings, to find +the moment of expression, to withdraw this from the narrowness of fact, +and give to it, in an ideal world, proportion, limit, reality and +dignity. + +_Agreeableness._ The subject and its mode of exhibition are +moreover connected with the sensible laws of art; viz., harmony, +comprehensibility, symmetry, contrast, etc.; whereby it becomes visibly +beautiful, or agreeable, as it is called. + +_Beauty._ Farther, we find that it obeys the laws of spiritual beauty, +which arises from just proportion, and to which he who is complete in +the creation or production of the beautiful knows how to subject even +the extremes. + +Now that I have defined the conditions which we demand of a high work +of art, much will be comprised in a few words when I say that the +Laocoon group fulfils them all, nay, that out of it alone all of them +could be developed. + +It will be conceded by all that it exhibits acquaintance with the human +form, and with what is characteristic in it, and at the same time +expression and passion. In how high and ideal a way the subject is +treated will presently be shown; and no one who recognizes the harmony +with which the extremes of bodily and mental suffering are set forth +can hesitate in calling the work beautiful. + +On the other hand, many will think I am uttering a paradox when I +maintain that the work is also _agreeable_. A word upon this point. + +Every work of art must show on the face of it that it is such; +and this can be done only through what we call sensuous beauty, +or agreeableness. The ancients, far from entertaining the modern +notion that a work of art must have the appearance of a work of +nature, designated their works of art as such through an intentional +arrangement of parts; by means of symmetry they rendered easy for the +eye an insight into relations, and thus a complicated work was made +comprehensible. Through symmetry and opposition slight deviations +were made productive of the sharpest contrasts. The pains of the +artist were most happily bestowed to place the masses in opposition +to each other, and particularly in groups, to bring the extremities +of the bodies against each other in a harmonious position; so that +every work, when we disregard its import, and look only at its general +outline from a distance, strikes the eye by its ornamental air. The +antique vases furnish a hundred instances of this sort of agreeable +composition, and perhaps it would be possible to exhibit a series of +examples of symmetrically artistic and charming groupings, from the +most quiet vase-sculptures up to the Laocoon. I shall therefore venture +to repeat the assertion that the group of Laocoon, in addition to its +other acknowledged merits, is at once a model of symmetry and variety, +of repose and action, of contrast and gradation, which produce an +impression partly sensible, partly spiritual, agreeably stimulate the +imagination by the high pathos of the representation, and by their +grace and beauty temper the storm of passion and suffering. + +It is a great advantage for a work of art to be self-included and +complete. An object at rest, exhibiting simple being, is thus complete +by and in itself. A Jupiter, the thunderbolt resting in his lap; a +Juno, reposing in her majesty and feminine dignity; a Minerva, inwardly +intent--are all subjects that have no impulse outwards, that rest upon +and in themselves; the first, the most lovely subjects of sculpture. +But within the noble round of the mythic circle of art, where these +separate self-existent natures stand and rest, there are smaller +circles, within which the figures are conceived and wrought out with +reference to other figures; for example, the nine Muses, with their +leader, Apollo, are each conceived and executed separately, but they +become far more interesting in their complete and diversified choir. +When art attempts scenes of exalted passion, it can treat them also +in the same manner; it may either present to us a circle of figures +holding a passionate relation to each other, like the Niobe and her +children, pursued by Apollo and Diana, or exhibit in the same piece the +action and the motive; we have in mind such groups as the graceful boy +extracting the thorn from his foot, the wrestler, two groups of fawns +and nymphs in Dresden, and the noble and animated group of Laocoon. + +Sculpture is justly entitled to the high rank it holds, because it can +and must carry expression to its highest point of perfection, from +the fact that it leaves man only the absolutely essential. Thus, in +the present group, Laocoon is a bare name; the artists have stripped +him of his priesthood, his Trojan nationality, of every poetical +or mythological attribute; there remains nothing of all that fable +had clothed him with; he is a father with his two sons, in danger +of destruction from two fierce animals. In like manner, we see no +messenger of the gods, but two plain, natural serpents, powerful enough +to overcome three men, but, by no means, either in form or action, +supernatural and avenging ministers of wrath. They glide in, as it +is their nature to do, twine around, knot together, and one, being +irritated, bites. If I had to describe this work without knowing the +farther intent of it, I should say it were a Tragic Idyl. A father was +sleeping, with his two sons beside him; two serpents twined about them, +and now waking, they struggled to free themselves from the living net. + +The expression of the moment is, in this work, of the highest +importance. When it is intended that a work of art shall move before +the eye, a passing moment must, of course, be chosen; but a moment ago +not a single part of the whole was to be found in the position it now +holds, and in another instant all will be changed again; so that it +presents a fresh, living image to a million beholders. + +In order to conceive rightly the intention of the Laocoon, let a man +place himself before it at a proper distance, with his eyes shut; then +let him open his eyes, and shut them again instantly. By this means he +will see the whole marble in motion; he will fear lest he finds the +whole group changed when he opens his eyes again. It might be said +that, as it stands, it is a flash of lightning fixed, a wave petrified +in the moment it rushes towards the shore. The same effect is produced +by the contemplation of the group by torchlight. + +The situation of the three figures is represented with a wise +gradation. In the oldest son only the extremities are entangled; the +second is encumbered with more folds, and especially by the knot around +his breast; he endeavors to get breath by the motion of his right arm; +with the left he gently holds back the serpent’s head, to prevent him +from taking another turn round his breast. The serpent is in the act of +slipping under the hand, but _does not bite_. The father, on the other +hand, tries to set himself and the children free by force; he grasps +the other serpent, which, exasperated, bites him on the hip. + +The best way to understand the position of the father, both in the +whole and in detail, seems to be to take the sudden anguish of the +wound as the moving cause of the whole action. The serpent has not +bitten, but is just now biting, and in a sensitive part, above and +just behind the hip. The position of the restored head of the serpent +does not represent the bite correctly; fortunately, the remains of the +two jaws may yet be seen on the hinder part of the statue, if only +these important vestiges are not destroyed in the course of the present +paltry alterations. The serpent inflicts a wound upon the unhappy man, +in a part where we are excessively sensible to any irritation, where +even a little tickling is able to produce the action which in this case +is caused by the wound. The figure starts away towards the opposite +side, the abdomen is drawn in, the shoulder forced down, the breast +thrust out, the head sinks towards the wounded side; the secondary +portion of the situation or treatment appears in the imprisoned feet +and the struggling arms; and thus from the contrast of struggle and +flight, of action and suffering, of energy and failing strength, +results an harmonious action that would perhaps be impossible under +other conditions. We are lost in astonishment at the sagacity of the +artist; if we try to place the bite in some different position the +whole action is changed, and we find it impossible to conceive one +more fitting. This, therefore, is an important maxim: the artist has +represented a sensuous effort, he shows us also its sensuous cause. +I repeat, the situation of the bite renders necessary the present +action of the limbs. The movement of the lower part of the figure, as +if to fly, the drawing in of the abdomen, the downward action of the +shoulders and the head, the breast forced out, nay, the expression of +each feature of the face, all are determined by this instant, sharp, +unlooked-for irritation. + +Far be it from me to destroy the unity of human nature, to deny the +sympathetic action of the spiritual powers of this nobly complete +man, to misconceive the action and suffering of a great nature. I +see also anguish, fear, horror, a father’s anxiety pervading these +veins, swelling this breast, furrowing this brow. I freely admit +that the highest state of mental as well as bodily anguish is here +represented; only let us not transfer the effect the work produces +on us too vividly to the piece itself; and above all, let us not be +looking for the effect of poison in a body which the serpent’s fang +has but just reached. Let us not fancy we see a death-struggle in a +noble, resisting, vigorous, but slightly wounded frame. Here let me +have leave to make an observation of importance in art: The maximum +expression of pathos that can be given by art hovers in the transition +from one state or condition to another. You see a lively child running +with all the energy and joy of life, bounding, and full of delight; he +is unexpectedly struck somewhat roughly by a playmate, or is otherwise +morally or physically hurt. This new sensation thrills like an electric +shock through all his limbs, and this transition is full of pathos in +the highest meaning; it is a contrast of which one can form no idea +without having seen it. In this case plainly the spiritual as well as +the physical man is in action. If during the transition there still +remain evident traces of the previous state, the result is the noblest +subject for plastic art, as is the case in the Laocoon where action and +suffering are shown in the same instant. Thus, for instance, Eurydice, +bitten in the heel by the snake she has trodden on, as she goes +joyfully through the meadow with the flowers she has collected, would +make a statue of great pathos, if the twofold state, the joyful advance +and its painful arrest, might be expressed not only by the flowers +that she lets fall, but by the direction of her limbs and the doubtful +fluttering of her dress. + +Having now a clear conception, in this respect, of the main figure, we +shall be enabled to give a free and secure glance over the relations, +contrasts, and gradations of the collective parts of the whole. + +The choice of subject is one of the happiest that can be imagined,--men +struggling with dangerous animals, and animals that do not act as a +mass of concentrated force, but with divided powers; that do not rush +in at one side, nor offer a combined resistance, but capable by their +prolonged organization of paralyzing without injuring them, three +men, or more or less. From the action of this numbing force results, +consistently with the most violent action, a pervading unity and repose +throughout the whole. The different action of the serpents is exhibited +in gradation. The one is simply twined around its victims, the other +becomes irritated and bites its antagonist. The three figures are in +like manner most wisely selected: a strong, well-developed man, but +evidently past the age of greatest energy, and therefore less able to +endure pain and suffering. Substitute in his place a robust young man +and the charm of the group vanishes. Joined with him in his suffering +are two boys, small in proportion to his figure; again still two +natures susceptible of pain. + +The struggles of the youngest are powerless; he is frightened, but +not injured. The father struggles powerfully, but ineffectually; his +efforts have rather the effect to exasperate the opposed force. His +opponent, becoming irritated, wounds him. The eldest son is least +encumbered. He suffers neither anguish nor pain; he is frightened +by the sudden wounding of his father, and his movement thereupon; he +cries out, at the same moment endeavoring to free his foot from the +serpent’s fold. Here then is spectator, witness, and accessory to the +fact; and thus the work is completed. Let me here repeat what I alluded +to above,--that all three figures exhibit a twofold action, and thus +are occupied in most manifold ways. The youngest son strives to free +himself by raising his right arm, and with his left hand keeps back +the serpent’s head; he is striving to alleviate the present, and avert +the greater, evil,--the highest degree of action he can attain in his +present imprisoned condition. The father is striving to shake off the +serpents, while his body recoils from the immediate bite. The oldest +son is terrified by his father’s starting, and seeks at the same time +to free himself from the lightly entwining serpent. + +The choice of the highest moment of expression has already been spoken +of as a great advantage possessed by this work of art; let us now +consider this problem in greater detail. + +We assumed the case of natural serpents twining about a father sleeping +by his sons, so that in considering the separate moments, we might be +led to a climax of interest. The first moments of the serpents’ winding +about them in sleep are portentous, but not significant for art. We +might perhaps imagine an infant Hercules asleep, with a serpent twined +about him; but in this case the form in repose would show us what we +were to expect when he waked. + +Let us now proceed and figure to ourselves a father with his children, +when first--let it have happened how it may--he discovers the +serpents wound about him. There is only one moment of the highest +interest,--when one of the figures is made defenseless by the pressure, +the second can still fight, but is wounded, the third still retains +a hope of escape. In the first condition is the younger son; in the +second, the father; in the third, the eldest son. Seek now to find +another, a fourth condition! Try to change the order of the _dramatis +personae_! + +If we now consider the treatment from the beginning, we must +acknowledge that it has reached the highest point; and in like manner, +if we reflect upon the succeeding moments, we shall perceive that +the whole group must necessarily be changed, and that no moment can +be found equal to this in artistic significance. The youngest son +will either be suffocated by the entwining serpent, or should he in +his helpless condition exasperate it, he must be bitten. Neither +alternative could we endure, since they suppose an extremity unsuitable +for representation. As to the father, he would either be bitten by the +serpent in other places, whereby the position of the body would be +entirely changed and the previous wounds would either be lost to the +beholder or, if made evident, would be loathsome, or the serpent might +turn about and assail the eldest son, whose attention would then be +turned to himself,--the scene loses its participator, the last glimpse +of hope disappears from the group, the situation is no longer tragical, +it is fearful. The figure of the father, which is now self-centred in +its greatness and its suffering, would in that case be turned towards +the son and become a sympathizing subordinate. + +Man has, for his own and others’ sufferings, only three sorts of +sensations, apprehension, terror, and compassion,--the anxious +foreseeing of an approaching evil, the unexpected realization of +present pain, and sympathy with existing or past suffering; all three +are excited by and exhibited in the present work, and in the most +fitting gradations. + +Plastic art, laboring always for a single point of time, in choosing a +subject expressive of pathos will seize one that awakens terror; while +Poetry prefers such as excite apprehension and compassion. In the group +of Laocoon the suffering of the father awakens terror, and that in the +highest degree. Sculpture has done her utmost for him, but, partly to +run through the circle of human sensations, partly to soften the effect +of so much of the terrible, it excites pity for the younger son, and +apprehension for the elder, through the hope that still exists for +him. Thus, by means of variety, the artists have introduced a certain +balance into their work, have softened and heightened effect by other +effects, and completed at once a spiritual and sensuous whole. + +In a word, we dare boldly affirm that this work exhausts its subject +and happily fulfils all the conditions of art. It teaches us that if +the master can infuse his feeling of beauty into tranquil and simple +subjects, this feeling can also be exhibited in its highest energy and +dignity when it manifests itself in the creation of varied characters, +and knows how, by artistic imitation, to temper and control the +passionate outbreak of human feeling. We shall give in the sequel a +full account of the statues known by the name of the family of Niobe, +as well as the group of the Farnesian Bull; these are among the few +representations of pathos that remain to us of antique sculpture. + +It has been the usual fate of the moderns to blunder in their choice +of subjects of this sort. When Milo, with both his hands fast in the +cleft of a tree, is attacked by a lion, art in vain endeavors to create +a work that will excite a sincere sympathy. A twofold suffering, a +fruitless struggle, a helpless state, a certain defeat can only excite +horror, if they do not leave us cold. + +Finally, a word concerning this subject in its connection with poetry. + +It is doing Virgil and poetic art a great injustice to compare even +for a moment this most succinct achievement of Sculpture with the +episodical treatment of the subject in the Æneid. Since the unhappy +exile, Æneas, is to recount how he and his fellow-citizens were guilty +of the unpardonable folly of bringing the famous horse into their city, +the Poet must hit upon some way to provide a motive for this action. +Everything is subordinated to this end, and the story of Laocoon +stands here as a rhetorical argument to justify an exaggeration if +only it serves its purpose. Two monstrous serpents come out of the +sea with crested heads; they rush upon the children of the priest who +had injured the horse, encircle them, bite them, besmear them, twist +and twine about the breast and head of the father as he hastens to +their assistance, and hold up their heads in triumph while the victim, +inclosed in their folds, screams in vain for help. The people are +horror-struck and fly at once; no one dares to be a patriot any longer; +and the hearer, satiated with the horror of the strange and loathsome +story, is willing to let the horse be brought into the city. + +Thus, in Virgil, the story of Laocoon serves only as a step to a higher +aim, and it is a great question whether the occurrence be in itself a +poetic subject. + + + + +THE COLLECTOR AND HIS FRIENDS + +(1799) + + +Yesterday a stranger made his appearance, whose name I was already +familiar with, and who has the reputation of a skilful connoisseur.[3] +I was pleased to see him, made him acquainted generally with my +possessions, let him choose what he would from what I exhibited to him. +I soon noticed his cultivated eye for works of art, and especially for +their history. He knew the masters as well as the scholars; in cases of +doubtful works he was familiar with the grounds of uncertainty, and his +conversation was highly interesting to me. + +Perhaps I should have been hurried on to open myself in a more lively +manner towards him, had not my resolve to sound my guest made me from +the first take a more quiet tone. His judgment in many cases agreed +with mine; in many I was forced to admire his sharp and practised +eye. The first thing that struck me was his unmitigated hatred of all +Mannerists. I was in pain for some of my favorite pictures, and was +curious to discover from what source such a dislike could spring.... + +Before we were all assembled I seized an opportunity to lend a helping +hand to my poor mannerists against the stranger. I spoke of their +beautiful nature, their happy handling, their grace, and added, to +keep myself safe: Thus much I say only to claim for them a certain +degree of forbearance, though I admit that that high beauty, which is +the highest end and aim of Art, is in fact quite a different thing. + +He replied--with a smile that did not altogether please me, inasmuch +as it seemed to express a special self-satisfaction and a sort of +compassion for me:--Are you then stanch in the old-fashioned principle +that Beauty is the last aim of art? + +I answered that I was not aware of any higher. + +Can you tell me what Beauty is? he exclaimed. + +Perhaps not, I replied; but I can show it to you. Let us go and see, +even by candlelight, a fine cast of Apollo or a beautiful marble bust +of Bacchus that I possess, and try if we cannot agree that they are +beautiful. + +Before we go upon this quest, said he, it would be necessary for us +to examine more closely this word Beauty and its derivation. Beauty +(_Schönheit_) comes from show (_Schein_); it is an appearance, and +not worthy to be the object of art. The perfectly characteristic only +deserves to be called beauty; without Character there is no Beauty. + +Surprised by this mode of expression, I replied: Granted, though it be +not proved, that beauty must be characteristic; yet from this it only +follows that character lies at the root of beauty, but by no means that +Beauty and Character are the same. Character holds to the beautiful the +same relation that the skeleton does to the living man. No one will +deny that the osseous system is the foundation of all highly organized +forms. It consolidates and defines the form, but is not the form +itself; still less does it bring about that last appearance which, as +the veil and integument of an organized whole, we call Beauty. + +I cannot embark in similitudes, said my guest, and from your own words, +moreover, it is evident that beauty is something incomprehensible, or +the effect of something incomprehensible. What cannot be comprehended +is naught; what we cannot make clear by words is nonsense. + +_I._--Can you then clearly express in words the effect that a colored +body produces on your eyes? + +_He._--That is again a metaphor that I will not be drawn into. It is +enough that character can be indicated. You find no beauty without +it, else it would be empty and insignificant. All the beauty of the +Ancients is only Character, and only out of this quality is beauty +developed. + +Our Philosopher[4] had arrived meanwhile and was conversing with my +nieces, when, hearing us speak earnestly, he stepped forward; and the +stranger, stimulated by the accession of a new hearer, proceeded: + +That is just the misfortune when good heads, when people of merit, get +hold of such false principles, which have only an appearance of truth, +and spread them wider and wider. None appropriate them so willingly as +those who know and understand nothing of the subject. Thus has Lessing +fastened upon us the principle that the ancients cultivated only +the beautiful; thus has Winckelmann put us to sleep with his “noble +simplicity and serene greatness”; whereas the art of the ancients +appears in all imaginable forms. But these gentlemen tarry by Jupiter +and Juno, Genii and Graces, and hide the ignoble forms and skulls of +Barbarians, the rough hair, foul beard, gaunt bones, and wrinkled skin +of deformed age, the protruding veins and hanging breasts. + +In the name of God, I exclaimed, are there then independent, +self-existing works of the best age of Ancient Art that exhibit such +frightful objects? Or are they not rather subordinate works, occasional +pieces, creations of an art that must demean itself according to +outward circumstances, an art on the decline? + +_He._--I give you the specification, you can yourself search and judge. +But you will not deny that the Laocoon, that Niobe, that Dirce with her +stepsons, are self-subsistent works of art. Stand before the Laocoon +and contemplate nature in full revolt and desperation. The last choking +pang, the desperate struggle, the maddening convulsion, the working +of the corroding poison, the vehement fermenting, the stagnating +circulation, suffocating pressure, and paralytic death. + +The Philosopher seemed to look at me with astonishment, and I answered: +We shudder, we are horrified at the bare description. In sooth, if it +be so with the group of Laocoon, what are we to say of the pleasure we +find in this as in every other true work of art? But I will not meddle +in the question. You must settle it with the authors of the _Propylæa_, +who are of just the opposite mind. + +It must be admitted, said my guest, that all Antiquity speaks for +me; for where do horror and death rage more hideously than in the +representation of the Niobe? + +I was confounded by this assertion, for only a short time before I +had been looking at the copperplates in Fabroni, which I immediately +brought forward and opened. I find no trace in the statues of raging +horror and death, but rather the greatest subordination of tragical +situation under the highest ideas of dignity, nobleness, beauty, and +simplicity. I trace everywhere the artistic purpose to dispose the +limbs agreeably and gracefully. The character is expressed only in the +most general lines, which run through the work like a sort of ideal +skeleton. + +_He._--Let us turn to the bas-reliefs, which we shall find at the end +of the book. + +We turned to them. + +_I._--Of anything horrible, to speak truly, I see no trace here either. +Where is this rage of horror and death? I see figures so artfully +interwoven, so happily placed against or extended upon each other, that +while they remind me of a mournful destiny, they give room at the same +time for the most charming imaginations. All that is characteristic is +tempered, the violent is elevated, and I might say that Character lies +at the foundation; upon it rest simplicity and dignity; the highest +aim of art is beauty and its last effect the feeling of pleasure. The +agreeable, which may not be immediately united with the characteristic, +comes remarkably before our eyes in these sarcophagi. Are not the +dead sons and daughters of Niobe here made use of as ornaments? This +is the highest luxury of art; she adorns no longer with flowers and +fruits, but with the corpses of men, with the greatest misfortune that +can befall a father or mother, to see a blooming family all at once +snatched away. Yes, the beauteous genius who stands beside the grave, +his torch reversed, has stood beside the artist as he invented and +perfected, and over his earthly greatness has breathed a heavenly grace. + +My guest looked at me with a smile, and shrugged his shoulders. +Alas,--said he, as I concluded,--alas, I see plainly that we can never +agree. What a pity that a man of your acquirements, of your sense, +will not perceive that these are all empty words; that to a man of +understanding Beauty and Ideal must always be a dream which he cannot +translate into reality, but finds to be in direct opposition to it.... + +_I._--Will you allow me also to put in a word? + +_The guest_ (somewhat scornfully.)--With all my heart, and I hope +nothing about mere phantoms. + +_I._--I have some acquaintance with the poetry of the ancients, but +have little knowledge of the plastic arts. + +_Guest._--That I regret; for in that case we can hardly come to an +understanding. + +_I._--And yet the fine arts are nearly related, and the friends of the +separate arts should not misunderstand each other. + +_Uncle._--Let us hear what you have to say. + +_I._--The old tragic writers dealt with the stuff in which they worked +in the same way as the plastic artists, unless these engravings, +representing the family of Niobe, give an altogether false impression +of the original. + +_Guest._--They are passably good. They convey an imperfect but not a +false impression. + +_I._--Well, then, to that extent we can take them for a ground to go +upon. + +_Uncle._--What is it you assert of the treatment of the ancient tragic +writers? + +_I._--The subjects they chose, especially in the early times, were +often of an unbearable frightfulness. + +_Guest._--Were the ancient fables insupportably frightful? + +_I._--Undoubtedly; in the same manner as your account of the Laocoon. + +_Guest._--Did you find that also unbearable? + +_I._--I ask pardon. I meant the thing you describe, not your +description. + +_Guest._--And the work itself also? + +_I._--By no means the work itself, but that which you have seen in +it,--the fable, the history, the skeleton,--that which you name the +characteristic. For if the Laocoon really stood before our eyes such as +you have described it, we ought not to hesitate a moment to dash it to +pieces. + +_Guest._--You use strong expressions. + +_I._--One may do that as well as another. + +_Uncle._--Now then for the ancient tragedies. + +_Guest._--Yes, these insupportable subjects. + +_I._--Very good; but also this manner of treatment that makes +everything endurable, beautiful, graceful. + +_Guest._--And that is effected by means of “simplicity and serene +greatness?” + +_I._--So it appears. + +_Guest._--By the softening principle of Beauty? + +_I._--It can be nothing else. + +_Guest._--And the old tragedies were after all not frightful? + +_I._--Hardly, so far as my knowledge extends, if you listen to the +poets themselves. In fact, if we regard in poetry only the material +which lies at the foundation, if we are to speak of works of art as if +in their place we had seen the actual circumstances, then even the +tragedies of Sophocles can be described as loathsome and horrible. + +_Guest._--I will not pass judgment on poetry. + +_I._--Nor I on plastic art. + +_Guest._--Yes, it is best for each to stick to his own department. + +_I._--And yet there is a common point of union for all the arts +wherefrom the laws of all proceed. + +_Guest._--And that is-- + +_I._--The soul of man. + +_Guest._--Ay, ay; that is just the way with you gentlemen of the new +school of philosophy. You bring everything upon your own ground and +province; and, in fact, it is more convenient to shape the world +according to your ideas than to adapt your notions to the truth of +things. + +_I._--Here is no question of any metaphysical dispute. + +_Guest._--If there were I should certainly decline it. + +_I._--I shall admit for the sake of argument that Nature can be +imagined as absolutely apart from man, but with him art necessarily +concerns itself, for art exists only through man and for man. + +_Guest._--Where does all this tend? + +_I._--You yourself, when you make Character the end of art, appoint the +understanding, which takes cognizance of the characteristic, as the +judge. + +_Guest._--To be sure I do. What I cannot seize with my understanding +does not exist for me. + +_I._--Yet man is not only a being of thought, but also of feeling. He +is a whole; a union of various, closely connected powers; and to this +whole of man the work of art is to address itself. It must speak to +this rich unity, this simple variety in him. + +_Guest._--Don’t carry me with you into these labyrinths, for who could +ever help us out again? + +_I._--It will then be best for us to give up the dispute and each +retain his position. + +_Guest._--I shall at least hold fast to mine. + +_I._--Perhaps a means may still be found whereby, if one does not take +the other’s position, he can at least observe him in it. + +_Guest._--Propose it then. + +_I._--We will for a moment contemplate art in its origin. + +_Guest._--Good. + +_I._--Let us accompany the work of art on its road to perfection. + +_Guest._--But only by the way of experience, if you expect me to +follow. I will have nothing to do with the steep paths of speculation. + +_I._--You allow me to begin at the beginning? + +_Guest._--With all my heart. + +_I._--A man feels an inclination for some object; let us suppose a +single living being. + +_Guest._--As, for instance, this pretty lap-dog. + +_Julia._--Come, Bello! It is no small honor to serve as example in such +a discussion. + +_I._--Truly, the dog is pretty enough, and if the man we are speaking +of had the gift of imitation, he would try in some way to make a +likeness of it. But let him prosper never so well in his imitation, we +are still not advanced, for we have at best only two Bellos instead of +one. + +_Guest._--I will not interrupt, but wait and see what is to become of +this. + +_I._--Suppose that this man, to whom for the sake of his talent we will +give the name of Artist, has by no means satisfied himself as yet; that +his desire seems to him too narrow, too limited; that he busies himself +about more individuals, varieties, kinds, species, in such wise that +at last not the creature itself, but the Idea of the creature stands +before him, and he is able to express this by means of his art. + +_Guest._--Bravo! That is just my man, and his work must be +characteristic. + +_I._--No doubt. + +_Guest._--And there I would stop and go no farther. + +_I._--But we go beyond this. + +_Guest._--I stop here. + +_Uncle._--I will go along for the sake of experiment. + +_I._--By this operation we may arrive at a canon useful indeed, and +scientifically valuable, but not satisfactory to the soul of man. + +_Guest._---How then are you going to satisfy the fantastic demands of +this dear soul? + +_I._--Not fantastic; it is only not satisfied in its just claims. An +old tradition informs us that the Elohim once took counsel together, +saying, let us make man after our own image; and man says therefore, +with good cause, let us make gods and they shall be in our image. + +_Guest._--We are getting into a dark region. + +_I._--There is only one light that can aid us here. + +_Guest._--And that is? + +_I._--Reason. + +_Guest._--How far it be a guide or a will-o’-wisp is hard to say. + +_I._--We need not give it a name; but let us ask ourselves what are +the demands the soul makes of a work of art. It is not enough that it +fulfils a limited desire, that it satisfies our curiosity, or gives +order and stability to our knowledge; that which is Higher in us must +be awakened; we must be inspired with reverence, and feel ourselves +worthy of reverence. + +_Guest._--I begin to be at a loss to comprehend you. + +_Uncle._--But I think I am able to follow in some measure;--how far, +I shall try to make clear by an example. We will suppose our artist +had made an eagle in bronze which perfectly expressed the idea of the +species, but now he would place him on the sceptre of Jupiter. Do you +think it would be perfectly suitable there? + +_Guest._--It would depend. + +_Uncle._--I say, No! The artist must first impart to him something +beyond all this. + +_Guest._--What then? + +_Uncle._--It is hard to express. + +_Guest._--So I should think. + +_I._--And yet something may be done by approximation. + +_Guest._--To it then. + +_I._--He must give to the eagle what he gave to Jupiter, in order to +make him into a God. + +_Guest._--And this is-- + +_I._--The Godlike,--which in truth we should never become acquainted +with, did not man feel and himself reproduce it. + +_Guest._--I continue to hold my ground, and let you ascend into the +clouds. I see that you mean to indicate the high style of the Greeks, +which I prize only so far as it is characteristic. + +_I._--It is something more to us, however; it answers to a high demand, +but still not the highest. + +_Guest._--You seem to be very hard to satisfy. + +_I._--It beseems him to demand much for whom much is in store. Let me +be brief. The human soul is in an exalted position when it reverences, +when it adores; when it elevates an object and is elevated by it again. +But it cannot remain long in this state. The general concept of genus +leaves it cold; the Ideal raises it above itself; but now it must +return again into itself; and it would gladly enjoy once more that +affection which it then felt for the Individual, without coming back +to the same limited view, and will not forego the significant, the +spirit-moving. What would become of it now, if Beauty did not step in +and happily solve the riddle? She first gives life and warmth to the +Scientific, and breathing her softening influence and heavenly charm +over even the Significant and the High, brings it back to us again. A +beautiful work of art has gone through the entire circle; it becomes +again an Individual that we can embrace with affection, that we can +make our own. + +_Guest._--Have you done? + +_I._--For the present. The little circle is completed; we have come +back to our starting point; the soul has made its demands, and those +demands have been satisfied. I have nothing further to add. (Here our +good uncle was peremptorily called away to a patient.) + +_Guest._--It is the custom of you philosophic gentlemen to engage in +battle behind high-sounding words, as if it were an ægis. + +_I._--I can assure you that I have not now been speaking as a +philosopher. These are mere matters of experience. + +_Guest._--Do you call that experience, whereof another can comprehend +nothing? + +_I._--To every experience belongs an organ. + +_Guest._--Do you mean a separate one? + +_I._--Not a separate one; but it must have one peculiarity. + +_Guest._--And what is that? + +_I._--It must be able to produce. + +_Guest._--Produce what? + +_I._--The experience! There is no experience which is not brought +forth, produced, created. + +_Guest._--This is too much! + +_I._--This is particularly the case with artists. + +_Guest._--Indeed! How enviable would the portrait painter be, what +custom would he not have, if he could reproduce all his customers +without troubling people with so many sittings! + +_I._--I am not deterred by your instance, but rather am convinced +no portrait can be worth anything that the painter does not in the +strictest sense create. + +_Guest_ (springing up).--This is maddening! I would you were making +game of me, and all this were only in jest. How happy I should be to +have the riddle explained in that manner! How gladly would I give my +hand to a worthy man like you! + +_I._--Unfortunately, I am quite in earnest, and cannot come to any +other conclusion. + +_Guest._--Now I did hope that in parting we should take each other’s +hand, especially since our good host has departed, who would have +held the place of mediator in your dispute. Farewell, Mademoiselle! +Farewell, Sir! I shall inquire to-morrow whether I may wait on you +again. + +So he stormed out of the door, and Julia had scarce time to send the +maid, who was ready with the lantern, after him. I remained alone with +the sweet child, for Caroline had disappeared some time before,--I +think about the time that my opponent had declared that mere beauty, +without character, must be insipid. + +You went too far, my friend, said Julia, after a short pause. If he did +not seem to me altogether in the right, neither can I give unqualified +assent to you; for your last assertion was only made to tease him. The +portrait painter must make the likeness a pure creation? + +Fair Julia, I replied, how much I could wish to make myself clear to +you upon this point. Perhaps in time I shall succeed. But you, whose +lively spirit is at home in all regions, who not only prize the artist +but in some sense anticipate him, and who know how to give form to what +your eyes have never seen, as if it stood bodily before you, you should +be the last to start when the question is of creation, of production. + +_Julia._--I see it is your intention to bribe me. That will not be +hard, for I like to listen to you. + +_I._--Let us think well of man, and not trouble ourselves if what we +say of him may sound a little bizarre. Everybody admits that the poet +must be born. Does not every one ascribe to genius a creative power, +and no one thinks he is repeating a paradox? We do not deny it to works +of fancy; but the inactive, the worthless man will not become aware of +the good, the noble, the beautiful, either in himself or others. Whence +came it, if it did not spring from ourselves? Ask your own heart. Is +not the method of intercourse born with intercourse? Is it not the +capacity for good deeds that rejoices over the good deed? Who ever +feels keenly without the wish to express that feeling? and what do we +express but what we create? and in truth, not once only, that it may +exist and there end, but that it may operate, ever increase, and again +come to life, and again create. This is the god-like power of love, of +the singing and speaking of which there is no end, that it reproduces +at every moment the noble qualities of the beloved object, perfects it +in the least particulars, embraces it in the whole, rests not by day, +sleeps not by night, is enchanted with its own work, is astonished at +its own restless activity, ever finds the familiar new, because at +every moment it is re-created in the sweetest of all occupations. Yes, +the picture of the beloved cannot grow old, for every moment is the +moment of its birth. + +The maid returned from lighting the stranger. She was highly satisfied +with his liberality, for he had given her a handsome _pourboire_; but +she praised his politeness still more highly, for he had dismissed her +with a friendly word, and, moreover, called her “Pretty Maid.” + +I was not in a humor to spare him, and exclaimed: “Oh, yes! I can +easily credit that one who denies the ideal should take the common for +the beautiful.” + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[3] Alois Hirt, protagonist of the theory of the +“characteristic.” + +[4] Schiller. + + + + +ON TRUTH AND PROBABILITY IN WORKS OF ART + +_A Dialogue_ + +(1798) + + +In a certain German theatre there was represented a sort of oval +amphitheatrical structure, with boxes filled with painted spectators, +seemingly occupied with what was being transacted below. Many of the +real spectators in the pit and boxes were dissatisfied with this, and +took it amiss that anything so untrue and improbable was put upon them. +Whereupon the conversation took place of which we here give the general +purport. + +_The Agent of the Artist._--Let us see if we cannot by some means agree +more nearly. + +_The Spectator._--I do not see how such a representation can be +defended. + +_Agent._--Tell me, when you go into a theatre, do you not expect all +you see to be true and real? + +_Spectator._--By no means! I only ask that what I see shall appear true +and real. + +_Agent._--Pardon me if I contradict even your inmost conviction and +maintain this is by no means the thing you demand. + +_Spectator._--That is singular! If I did not require this, why should +the scene painter take so much pains to draw each line in the most +perfect manner, according to the rules of perspective, and represent +every object according to its own peculiar perfection? Why waste so +much study on the costume? Why spend so much to insure its truth, so +that I may be carried back into those times? Why is that player most +highly praised who most truly expresses the sentiment, who in speech, +gesture, delivery, comes nearest the truth, who persuades me that I +behold not an imitation, but the thing itself? + +_Agent._--You express your feelings admirably well, but it is harder +than you may think to have a right comprehension of our feelings. What +would you say if I reply that theatrical representations by no means +seem really true to you, but rather to have only an appearance of truth? + +_Spectator._--I should say that you have advanced a subtlety that is +little more than a play upon words. + +_Agent._--And I maintain that when we are speaking of the operations +of the soul, no words can be delicate and subtle enough; and that this +sort of play upon words indicates a need of the soul, which, not being +able adequately to express what passes within us, seeks to work by way +of antithesis, to give an answer to each side of the question, and +thus, as it were, to find the mean between them. + +_Spectator._--Very good. Only explain yourself more fully, and, if you +will oblige me, by examples. + +_Agent._--I shall be glad to avail myself of them. For instance, when +you are at an opera, do you not experience a lively and complete +satisfaction? + +_Spectator._--Yes, when everything is in harmony, one of the most +complete I know. + +_Agent._--But when the good people there meet and compliment each other +with a song, sing from billets that they hold in their hands, sing you +their love, their hatred, and all their passions, fight singing, and +die singing, can you say that the whole representation, or even any +part of it, is true? or, I may say, has even an appearance of truth? + +_Spectator._--In fact, when I consider, I could not say it had. None of +these things seems true. + +_Agent._--And yet you are completely pleased and satisfied with the +exhibition? + +_Spectator._--Beyond question. I still remember how the opera used to +be ridiculed on account of this gross improbability, and how I always +received the greatest satisfaction from it, in spite of this, and find +more and more pleasure the richer and more complete it becomes. + +_Agent._--And you do not then at the opera experience a complete +deception? + +_Spectator._--Deception, that is not the proper word,--and yet, +yes!--But no-- + +_Agent._--Here you are in a complete contradiction, which is far worse +than a quibble. + +_Spectator._--Let us proceed quietly; we shall soon see light. + +_Agent._--As soon as we come into the light, we shall agree. Having +reached this point, will you allow me to ask you some questions? + +_Spectator._--It is your duty, having questioned me into this dilemma, +to question me out again. + +_Agent._--The feeling you have at the exhibition of an opera cannot be +rightly called deception? + +_Spectator._--I agree. Still it is a sort of deception; something +nearly allied to it. + +_Agent._--Tell me, do you not almost forget yourself? + +_Spectator._--Not almost, but quite, when the whole or some part is +excellent. + +_Agent._--You are enchanted? + +_Spectator._--It has happened more than once. + +_Agent._--Can you explain under what circumstances? + +_Spectator._--Under so many, it would be hard to tell. + +_Agent._--Yet you have already told when it is most apt to happen, +namely, when all is in harmony. + +_Spectator._--Undoubtedly. + +_Agent._--Did this complete representation harmonize with itself or +some other natural product? + +_Spectator._--With itself, certainly. + +_Agent._--And this harmony was a work of art? + +_Spectator._--It must have been. + +_Agent._--We have denied to the opera the possession of a certain sort +of truth. We have maintained that it is by no means faithful to what it +professes to represent. But can we deny to it a certain interior truth, +which arises from its completeness as a work of art? + +_Spectator._--When the opera is good, it creates a little world of +its own, in which all proceeds according to fixed laws, which must be +judged by its own laws, felt according to its own spirit. + +_Agent._--Does it not follow from this, that truth of nature and truth +of art are two distinct things, and that the artist neither should nor +may endeavor to give his work the air of a work of nature? + +_Spectator._--But yet it has so often the air of a work of nature. + +_Agent._--That I cannot deny. But may I on the other hand be equally +frank? + +_Spectator._--Why not? our business is not now with compliments. + +_Agent._--I will then venture to affirm, that a work of art can seem +to be a work of nature only to a wholly uncultivated spectator; such +a one the artist appreciates and values indeed, though he stands on +the lowest step. But, unfortunately, he can only be satisfied when +the artist descends to his level; he will never rise with him, when, +prompted by his genius, the true artist must take wing in order to +complete the whole circle of his work. + +_Spectator._--Your remark is curious; but proceed. + +_Agent._--You would not let it pass unless you had yourself attained a +higher step. + +_Spectator._--Let me now make trial, and take the place of questioner, +in order to arrange and advance our subject. + +_Agent._--I shall like that better still. + +_Spectator._--You say that a work of art could appear as a work of +nature only to an uncultivated person? + +_Agent._--Certainly. You remember the birds that tried to eat the +painted cherries of the great master? + +_Spectator._--Now does not that show that the cherries were admirably +painted? + +_Agent._--By no means. It rather convinces me that these connoisseurs +were true sparrows. + +_Spectator._--I cannot, however, for this reason concede that this work +could have been other than excellent. + +_Agent._--Shall I tell you a more modern story? + +_Spectator._--I would rather listen to stories than arguments. + +_Agent._--A certain great naturalist, among other domesticated animals, +possessed an ape, which he missed one day, and found after a long +search in the library. There sat the beast on the ground, with the +plates of an unbound work of Natural History scattered about him. +Astonished at this zealous fit of study on the part of his familiar, +the gentleman approached, and found, to his wonder and vexation, that +the dainty ape had been making his dinner of the beetles that were +pictured in various places. + +_Spectator._--It is a droll story. + +_Agent._--And seasonable, I hope. You would not compare these colored +copperplates with the work of so great an artist? + +_Spectator._--No, indeed. + +_Agent._--But you would reckon the ape among the uncultivated amateurs? + +_Spectator._--Yes, and among the greedy ones! You awaken in me a +singular idea. Does not the uncultivated amateur, just in the same +way, desire a work to be natural, that he may be able to enjoy it in a +natural, which is often a vulgar and common way? + +_Agent._--I am entirely of that opinion. + +_Spectator._--And you maintain, therefore, that an artist lowers +himself when he tries to produce this effect? + +_Agent._--Such is my firm conviction. + +_Spectator._--But here again I feel a contradiction. You did me just +now the honor to number me, at least, among the half-cultivated +spectators. + +_Agent._--Among those who are on the way to become true connoisseurs. + +_Spectator._--Then explain to me, Why does a perfect work of art appear +like a work of nature to me also? + +_Agent._--Because it harmonizes with your better nature. Because it is +above natural, yet not unnatural. A perfect work of art is a work of +the human soul, and in this sense, also, a work of nature. But because +it collects together the scattered objects, of which it displays even +the most minute in all their significance and value, it is above +nature. It is comprehensible only by a mind that is harmoniously +formed and developed, and such an one discovers that what is perfect +and complete in itself is also in harmony with himself. The common +spectator, on the contrary, has no idea of it; he treats a work of +art as he would any object he meets with in the market. But the true +connoisseur sees not only the truth of the imitation, but also the +excellence of the selection, the refinement of the composition, the +superiority of the little world of art; he feels that he must rise to +the level of the artist, in order to enjoy his work; he feels that he +must collect himself out of his scattered life, must live with the +work of art, see it again and again, and through it receive a higher +existence. + +_Spectator._--Well said, my friend. I have often made similar +reflections upon pictures, the drama, and other species of poetry, and +had an instinct of those things you require. I will in future give more +heed both to myself and to works of art. But if I am not mistaken, +we have left the subject of our dispute quite behind. You wished to +persuade me that the painted spectators at our opera are admissible, +and I do not yet see, though we have come to an agreement, by what +arguments you mean to support this license, and under what rubric I am +to admit these painted lookers-on. + +_Agent._--Fortunately, the opera is repeated to-night; I trust you will +not miss it. + +_Spectator._--On no account. + +_Agent._--And the painted men? + +_Spectator._--Shall not drive me away, for I think myself something +more than a sparrow. + +_Agent._--I hope that a mutual interest may soon bring us together +again. + + + + +SIMPLE IMITATION OF NATURE, MANNER, STYLE + +(1789) + + +It does not seem to be superfluous to define clearly the meaning we +attach to these words, which we shall often have occasion to make use +of. For, however long we may have been in the habit of using them, and +however they may seem to have been defined in theoretical works, still +every one continues to use them in a way of his own, and means more or +less by them, according to the degree of clearness or uncertainty with +which he has seized the ideas they express. + + +_Simple Imitation of Nature_ + +If an artist, in whom we must of course suppose a natural talent, is in +the first stage of progress, and after having in some measure practised +eye and hand, turns to natural objects, uses all care and fidelity in +the most perfect imitation of their forms and colors, never knowingly +departs from nature, begins and ends in her presence every picture that +he undertakes,--such an artist must possess high merit, for he cannot +fail of attaining the greatest accuracy, and his work must be full of +certainty, variety and strength. + +If these conditions are clearly considered, it will be easily seen +that a capable but limited talent can in this way treat agreeable but +limited subjects. + +Such subjects must always be easy to find. Leisurely observation and +quiet imitation must be allowed for; the disposition that occupies +itself in such works must be a quiet one, self-contained, and satisfied +with moderate gratification. + +This sort of imitation will thus be practised by men of quiet, true, +limited nature, in the representation of dead or still-life subjects. +It does not by its nature exclude a high degree of perfection. + + +_Manner_ + +But man finds, usually, such a mode of proceeding too timid and +inadequate. He perceives a harmony among many objects, which can only +be brought into a picture by sacrificing the individual. He gets tired +of using Nature’s letters each time to spell after her. He invents +a way, devises a language for himself, so as to express in his own +fashion the idea his soul has attained, and give to the object he has +so many times repeated a distinctive form, without having recourse +to nature itself each time he repeats it, or even without recalling +exactly the individual form. + +Thus a language is created, in which the mind of the speaker expresses +and utters itself immediately; and as in each individual who thinks, +the conceptions of spiritual objects are formed and arranged +differently, so will every artist of this class see, understand, +and imitate the outward world in a different manner, will seize its +phenomena with a more or less observant eye, and reproduce them more +accurately or loosely. + +We see that this species of imitation is applied with the best effect +in cases where a great whole comprehends many subordinate objects. +These last must be sacrificed in order to attain the general expression +of the whole, as is the case in landscapes, for instance, where the aim +would be missed if we attended too closely to the details, instead of +keeping in view the idea of the whole. + + +_Style_ + +When at last art, by means of imitation of Nature, of efforts to +create a common language, and of clear and profound study of objects +themselves, has acquired a clearer and clearer knowledge of the +peculiarities of objects and their mode of being, oversees the classes +of forms, and knows how to connect and imitate those that are distinct +and characteristic,--then will _Style_ reach the highest point it is +capable of, the point where it may be placed on a par with the highest +efforts of the human mind. + +Simple Imitation springs from quiet existence and an agreeable subject; +Manner seizes with facile capacity upon an appearance; Style rests upon +the deepest foundations of knowledge, upon the essence of things, so +far as we are able to recognize it in visible and comprehensible forms. + + * * * * * + +The elaboration of what we have advanced above would fill whole +volumes; and much is said upon the subject in books, but a true +conception of it can only be arrived at by the study of nature and +works of art. We subjoin some additional considerations, and shall have +occasion to refer to these remarks whenever plastic art is in question. + +It is easy to see that these three several ways of producing works of +art are closely related, and that one may imperceptibly run into the +others. + +The simple imitation of subjects of easy comprehension (we shall take +fruits and flowers as an example) may be carried to a high point of +perfection. It is natural that he who paints roses should soon learn to +distinguish and select the most beautiful, and seek for such only among +the thousand that summer affords. Thus we have arrived at selection, +although the artist may have formed no general idea of the beauty of +roses. He has to do with comprehensible forms; everything depends upon +the manifold purpose and the color of the surface. The downy peach, +the finely dusted plum, the smooth apple, the burnished cherry, the +dazzling rose, the manifold pink, the variegated tulip, all these he +can have at will in his quiet studio in the perfection of their bloom +and ripeness. He can put them in a favorable light; his eye will +become accustomed to the harmonious play of glittering colors; each +year would give him a fresh opportunity of renewing the same models, +and he would be enabled, without laborious abstraction, by means of +quiet imitative observation, to know and seize the peculiarities of +the simple existence of these subjects. In this way were produced the +masterpieces of a Huysum and Rachel Ruysch, artists who seem almost to +have accomplished the impossible. It is evident that an artist of this +sort must become greater and more characteristic, if in addition to his +talent, he is also acquainted with botany; if he knows, from the root +up, the influences of the several parts upon the expansion and growth +of the plant, their office, and reciprocal action; if he understands +and reflects upon the successive development of leaves, fruit, +flowers, and the new germ. By this means he will not only exhibit his +taste in the selection of superficial appearance, but will at once win +admiration and give instruction through a correct representation of +properties. In this wise it might be said that he had formed a style; +while, on the other hand, it is easy to see how such a master, if he +proceeded with less thoroughness, if he endeavored to give only the +striking and dazzling, would soon pass into mannerism. + +Simple Imitation therefore labors in the ante-chamber that leads to +Style. In proportion to the truth, care, and purity with which it +goes to work, the composure with which it examines and feels, the +calmness with which it proceeds to imitate, the degree of reflection +it uses, that is to say, with which it learns to compare the like and +separate the unlike, and to arrange separate objects under one general +idea,--will be its title to step upon the threshold of the sanctuary +itself. + +If now we consider Manner more carefully, we shall see that it may be, +in the highest sense and purest signification of the word, the middle +ground between simple imitation of nature and style. + +The nearer it approaches, with its more facile treatment, to faithful +imitation and on the other side, the more earnestly it endeavors to +seize and comprehensibly express the character of objects, the more +it strives, by means of a pure, lively, and active individuality, to +combine the two, the higher, greater, and more worthy of respect it +will become. But if such an artist ceases to hold fast by and reflect +upon nature, he will soon lose sight of the true principles of art, +and his manner will become more and more empty and insignificant in +proportion as he leaves behind simple imitation and style. + +We need not here repeat that we use the word Manner in a high and +honorable sense, so that artists who, according to our definition, +would be termed Mannerists have nothing to complain of. It is only +incumbent upon us to preserve the word Style in the highest honor, in +order to have an expression for the highest point art has attained or +ever can attain. To be aware of this point is in itself a great good +fortune, and to enter upon its consideration in company with sensible +people, a noble pleasure, for which we hope to have many opportunities +in the sequel. + + + + +ANCIENT AND MODERN + +(1818) + + +I have been obliged, in what precedes, to say so much in favor of +antiquity, and particularly of the plastic artists of those times, +that I may possibly be misunderstood, which so often happens where the +reader, instead of preserving a just balance, throws himself at once +into the opposite scale. I therefore seize the present opportunity to +explain my meaning, using plastic art as a symbol of the never-ceasing +life of human actions and affairs. + +A young friend, Karl Ernst Schubarth, in his pamphlet, _A Critique on +Goethe_, which in every respect calls for my esteem and thanks, says: +“I do not agree with those worshipers of the ancients, among whom is +Goethe himself, who maintain that in high and complete development of +humanity nothing has ever been arrived at to compare with the Greeks.” +Fortunately, Schubarth’s own words give us an opportunity to adjust +this difference, where he says, “As to our Goethe, let me say that I +prefer Shakespeare to him, for this reason,--that in Shakespeare I seem +to find a strong, unconscious man, who is able, with perfect certainty, +and without reasoning, reflecting, subtilizing and classifying, to +seize with never-failing hand the true and false in man, and express it +quite naturally; whilst in Goethe, though I recognize the same ultimate +aim, I am always fighting with obstacles, and must be always taking +heed lest I accept for plain truth what is only an exhibition of plain +error.” + +Here our friend hits the nail on the head; for in that very point where +he places me below Shakespeare do we stand below the ancients. And what +is it we advance concerning the ancients? Any talent, the development +of which is not favored by time and circumstances, and must on that +account work its way through a thousand obstacles, and get rid of a +thousand errors, must always be at a disadvantage, when compared with +a contemporary one that has the opportunity to cultivate itself with +facility and act to the extent of its capacity without opposition. + +It often happens that people who are no longer young are able, out of +the fullness of their experience, to furnish an illustration that will +explain or strengthen an assertion; and this is my excuse for relating +the following anecdote. A practised diplomatist who had desired my +acquaintance, after the first interview, when he had had but little +opportunity of seeing or conversing with me, remarked to his friends: +“Voilà un homme qui a eu de grands chagrins!” These words set me to +thinking. The skilful physiognomist’s eye did not deceive him, only he +laid to the effect of suffering the phenomenon that should also have +been ascribed to opposition. An observant, straightforward German might +have said, “Here is a man who has had a very hard time of it.” Since, +then, the signs of past endurance and of persevering activity do not +disappear from the face, it is no wonder if all that remains of us +and our strivings should bear the same impress, and indicate, to the +attentive observer, a mode of being whose aim has been to preserve its +balance alike under circumstances of happiest development or narrowest +limitation, and to maintain the stubbornness, if it could not always +the highest dignity, of human existence. + +But letting pass old and new, past and present, we may in general +assert that every artistic production places us in the same state of +mind the author was in. If that was clear and bright, we shall feel +free; if that was narrow, timid, or anxious, we shall feel limited in +the same proportion. + +Upon reflection, we should add that this refers only to treatment. +Material and import do not enter into consideration. If we bear in mind +this principle, and look around in the world of art, we maintain that +every work will afford us pleasure which the artist himself produced +with ease and facility. What amateur does not rejoice in the possession +of a successful drawing or etching of our Chodowiecki? We see in them +such an immediate apprehension of nature, as we know it, that they +leave nothing to wish for. But he would not be able to go beyond his +mark and line, without losing all the advantage he derives from his +peculiar qualifications. + +We shall even go farther, and confess that we have derived great +pleasure from Mannerists, when the manner has not been carried too far, +and that we are pleased with the possession of their works. The artists +who have received this name have been gifted with uncommon talent, but +became early aware that, in the state of the times as well as of the +schools into which they were cast by fate, there was no room for minute +labor, but that they must choose their part, and perfect themselves +speedily. They therefore made themselves a language, into which they +could, without farther trouble, translate with ease and dexterity +all visible subjects, and exhibit to us representations of all sorts +of scenes with greater or less success. Thus whole nations have been +entertained and hoodwinked for long periods of time, until at last one +or another artist has found the way back to nature and a higher feeling +of art. + +We may perceive, by the Herculanean antiquities, how the ancients also +fell into this kind of manner; only their models were too great, too +present, fresh, and well preserved, for their second and third rate +artists to be able to lose themselves entirely in insignificance. + +Let us now assume a higher and more agreeable point of view, and +consider the talent with which Raphael was so singularly gifted. Born +with the happiest natural gifts, at a time when art combined the most +conscientious labor, attention, industry, and truth, the young man was +already led by excellent masters to the threshold, and had only to +raise his foot to enter the temple. Disciplined by Perugino in the most +careful elaboration, his genius was developed by Leonardo da Vinci and +Michelangelo. Neither of these artists, in spite of their long life +and the cultivation of their powers, seems ever to have reached the +true enjoyment of artistic production. The former, if we look closely, +wearied himself with thought, and dissipated his powers in mechanical +inquiries; and we have to blame the latter for spending his fairest +years among stone quarries, getting out marble blocks and slabs, so +that, instead of carrying out his intention of carving all the heroes +of the Old and New Testament, he has left only his Moses as an example +of what he could and should have done. Raphael, however, during his +whole life, ever increased in the even facility of his work. We see +in him the development of the intellectual and active powers, which +preserve such remarkable balance that it may be affirmed that no modern +artist has possessed such purity and completeness of thought and such +clearness of expression. In him we have another instance of a talent +that pours out to us the freshest water from the purest source. He +never affects a Greek manner, but feels, thinks, works like a Greek. We +see the fairest talent developed in the most favorable hours. The same +thing occurred, under like conditions and circumstances, in the time of +Pericles. + +It may therefore always be maintained that native talent is indeed +indispensable to production, but equally indispensable is a +commensurate development in the provinces of nature and art. Art cannot +dispense with its prerogatives, and cannot achieve perfection without +favorable outward circumstances. + +Consider the school of the Caracci. Here was a ground-work of talent, +earnestness, industry, and consistent development; here was an element +for the natural and artistic development of admirable powers. We see a +whole dozen of excellent artists produced by it, each practising and +cultivating his peculiar talent according to the same general idea, so +that it hardly seems possible that after times should produce anything +similar. + +Let us consider the immense stride made by the highly gifted Rubens +into the world of art! He too was no son of earth; look at the rich +inheritance he was heir to, from the old masters of the fourteenth +and fifteenth centuries, through all the admirable artists of the +sixteenth, at the close of which he was born. + +Again, think of the crowd of Dutch painters of the seventeenth century, +whose great abilities found development now at home, now south, now +north, until we can no longer deny the incredible sagacity with which +their eye pierced into nature, and the facility with which they have +succeeded in expressing her legitimate charm, so as to enchant us +everywhere. Nay, in proportion as we possess their productions, we +are willing to limit ourselves for long stretches of time to their +study and admiration, and are far from blaming those amateurs who are +contented with the possession and enjoyment of this class of pictures +exclusively. + +In the same way, we could bring a hundred examples in support of +our assertion. To see distinctly, to apprehend clearly, to impart +with facility,--these are the qualities that enchant us; and when we +maintain that all these are to be found in the genuine Greek works, +united with the noblest subjects, the most unerring and perfect +execution, it will be seen why it is we always begin and end with them. +Let each one be a Greek in his own way, but let him be a _Greek_! + +The same is true of literary merit. What is comprehensible is always +the first to attract us and give us complete satisfaction. If we even +take the works of one and the same poet, we shall find some that seem +to indicate a degree of laborious effort, and others again affect us +like natural products, because the talent was commensurate with the +form and import. And once more, it is our firm belief that although any +age may give birth to the fairest talent, it is not given to all to be +able to develop it in its perfect proportions. + + + + +NOTES ON DILETTANTISM + +(1799) + + +Dilettantism presupposes Art, as botch-work does handicraft.--Idea +of Artist, in opposition to Dilettante.--Practice of Art +scientifically.--Adoption of an Objective Art.--Legitimate progress and +advancement.--Calling and profession.--Connection with a world of Art +and Artists.--Schools. + +The Dilettante does not hold the same relation to all the arts. + +All the arts have an objective and a subjective side, and according as +one or the other of these is predominant, the Dilettante has value or +not. + +Where the subjective of itself is of great importance, the Dilettante +must and can approximate to the artist. For instance, oratory, lyrical +poetry, music, dance. + +Where the reverse is the case, there is a more marked distinction +between Artist and Dilettante, as in architecture, the arts of design, +epic and dramatic poetry. + + * * * * * + +Art itself gives laws, and commands the time. + +Dilettantism follows the lead of the time. + +When masters in art follow a false taste, the Dilettante expects so +much the sooner to reach the level of art. + +The Dilettante, receiving his first impulse to self-production from +the effect of works of art on him, confounds these effects with the +objective causes and motives, and would now make the state of feeling +he has been put into productive and practical; as if out of the +fragrance of flowers one should try to reproduce flowers themselves. + +The _speaking to the feelings_, the last effect of all poetical +organization, but which presupposes the concurrences of the whole of +art, seems to the Dilettante to be the thing itself, and out of it he +endeavors to produce. + +In general, the Dilettante, in his ignorance of himself, puts the +passive in the place of the active, and because he receives a lively +impression from effects, thinks from these impressed effects to produce +other effects. + +The peculiar want of the Dilettante is _Architectonic_, in the highest +sense,--that practical power which creates, forms, constitutes. Of this +he has only a sort of misgiving, and submits himself to his material, +instead of commanding it. + +It will be found that the Dilettante runs particularly to neatness, +which is the completion of the thing in hand, wherefrom a sort of +illusion arises, as if the thing itself were worthy of existing. +The same holds true of accuracy (_accuratesse_), and all the last +conditions of Form, which can just as well accompany the formless. + +General principles on which Dilettantism is allowable:-- + +When the Dilettante subjects himself to the severest rules at the +outset, and undertakes to complete all the successive steps with the +greatest strictness,--which he can the better afford to do, inasmuch as +(1) the goal is not demanded of him; and, (2) if he wishes to retreat, +he has prepared the surest path to connoisseurship. + +In opposition to the general maxim, the Dilettante will thus be subject +to more severe criticism than the Artist, who, resting upon a secure +basis of art, incurs less danger in departing from rules, and may even +by that means enlarge the province of art itself. The true artist +rests firmly and securely upon himself. His endeavor, his mark, is +the highest aim of art. In his own estimation he will always be far +from that aim, and necessarily, therefore, will be always modest in +regard to art or the idea of art, and will maintain that he has as +yet accomplished little, no matter how excellent his work may be, or +how high his consciousness of superiority, in reference to the world, +may reach. Dilettanti, or real botchers, seem, on the other hand, not +to strive towards an aim, not to see what is beyond, but only what is +beside them. On this account they are always comparing, are for the +most part extravagant in their praise, unskilful where they blame, have +an infinite deference for their like, thus giving themselves an air of +friendliness and fairness, which is in fact only to exalt themselves. + + +_Dilettantism in Lyrical Poetry_ + +The fact that the German language was in the beginning applied to +poetry, not by any one great poetic genius, but through merely middling +heads, must inspire Dilettantism with confidence to essay itself in it. + +The cultivation of French literature and language has made even +Dilettanti more artistic. + +The French were always more rigorous, tended to severer correctness, +and demanded even of Dilettanti taste and spirit within, and externally +a faultless diction.--In England, Dilettantism held more by Latin and +Greek.--Sonnets of the Italians. + +Impudence of the latest Dilettantism, originated and maintained through +reminiscences of a richly cultivated poetic dialect, and the facility +of a good mechanical exterior. + +Polite literature of universities, induced by a modern method +of study.--Lady poems.--Schöngeisterei (bel esprit).--Annual +_Keepsakes_.--Musenalmanache.--Journals.--Beginning and spread of +translations. + +Immediate transition from the classes and the university to +authorship.--Epoch of ballads, and songs of the people.--Gessner, +poetic prose.--Imitation of the bards.--Bürger’s influence on +sing-song.--Rhymeless verses.--Klopstockean odes.--Claudius.--Wieland’s +laxity.--In earlier times: Latin verses; pedantism; more handicraft; +skill, without poetic spirit. + + +_Dilettantism in Pragmatic Poetry_ + +Reasons why the Dilettante hates the powerful, the passionate, the +characteristic, and only represents the middling, the moral. + +The Dilettante never paints the object, but only the feeling it gives +rise to in him. + +He avoids the character of the object. + +All Dilettante creations in this style of poetry will have a +pathological character, and express only the attractions and repulsions +felt by their author. + +The Dilettante thinks to reach poetry by means of his wits. + +Dramatic botchers go mad when they desire to give effect to their work. + + +_Dilettantism in Dramatic Art_ + +French comedy is, even among amateurs, _obligato_, and a social +institution. + +Italian amateur-comedy is founded on a puppet, or puppet-like, +representation. + +Germany, in former times, Jesuit-schools. + +In later times: French amateur comedies, for aiding the cultivation of +the language, in noble houses. + +Mixing up of ranks in German amateur-comedy. + +Conditions, under which, perhaps, a moderate practice in theatrical +matters may be harmless and allowable, or even in some measure +advantageous: + +Permanence of the same company. + +To avoid passionate pieces, and choose such as are reflective and +social. + +To admit no children or very young persons. + +Greatest possible strictness in outward forms. + + +_Advantages of Dilettantism in General_ + +It prevents an entire want of cultivation. + +Dilettantism is a necessary consequence of a general extension of art, +and may even be a cause of it. + +It can, under certain circumstances, help to excite and develop a true +artistic talent. + +Elevates handicraft to a certain resemblance to art. + +Has a civilizing tendency. + +In case of crude ignorance, it stimulates a certain taste for art, and +extends it to where the artist would not be able to reach. + +Gives occupation to productive power, and cultivates something serious +in man. + +Appearances are changed into ideas. + +Teaches to analyze impressions. + +Aids the appropriation and reproduction of forms. + + +_In Lyrical Poetry_ + +Cultivation of language in general. + +More manifold interest “in humanioribus,” in contrast to the crudeness +of the ignorant, or the pedantic narrowness of the mere man of business +or pedant. + +Cultivation of the feelings and of the verbal expression of the same. + +The cultivated man ought to be able to express his feelings with poetic +beauty. + +Idealization of concepts regarding objects of common life. Cultivation +of the imagination, especially as an integral part of the culture of +the intellect. + +Awaking and direction of the productive imagination to the highest +functions of the mind in the sciences and practical life. + +Cultivation of the sense of the rhythmical. + +There being no objective laws, either for the internal or external +construction of a poem, the amateur ought to hold fast to acknowledged +models much more strongly than the master does, and rather imitate the +good that exists than strive after originality; and in the external and +metrical parts, follow strictly the well-known general rules. + +And as the Dilettante can only form himself after models, he ought, in +order to avoid one-sidedness, to acquire the most universal knowledge +of all models, and survey the field of poetic literature even more +perfectly than is required of the artist himself. + + +_In the Dramatic Art_ + +Opportunity of farther cultivation in declamation. + +Attention to one’s own representations. + +Participates in the advantages predicated of Dancing. + +Exercise of the Memory. + +Sensuous attention and accuracy. + + +_Disadvantage of Dilettantism in General_ + +The Dilettante jumps over the steps, stops at certain steps which he +regards as the end, and from which he thinks himself justified in +judging of the whole; this prevents his perfectibility. + +He subjects himself to the necessity of working by false rules, because +he cannot work even as a Dilettante without some rules, and he does not +understand the true objective rules. + +He departs more and more from the truth of objects, and loses himself +in subjective errors. + +Dilettantism deprives art of its element, and spoils art’s public by +depriving it of its earnestness and strictness. + +All tendency to easy contentment destroys art, and Dilettantism brings +in indulgence and favor. At the expense of the true artists, it brings +into notice those that stand nearest to Dilettantism. + +With Dilettantism the loss is always greater than the gain. + +From handicraft the way is open to rise to art, but not from botch-work. + +Dilettantism favors the indifferent, partial, and characterless. + +Injury Dilettanti do to art by bringing artists down to their level. + +Can bear no good artist near them. + +In all cases where the art itself has no proper regulative power, as in +Poetry, the art of Gardening, acting, the injury Dilettantism does is +greater, and its pretensions more arrogant. The worst case is that of +histrionic art. + + +_In Lyrical Poetry_ + +Belletristic shallowness and emptiness, withdrawal from solid studies, +or superficial treatment. + +A greater danger exists in this than in the other arts of mistaking +a merely Dilettante dexterity for a true genius for art, and in this +case, the subject is worse off than in any other Dilettantism, because +its existence becomes an entire nullity; for the poet is nothing at all +except through earnestness and conformity to art. + +Dilettantism in general, but especially in poetry, weakens the feeling +and perception for the good that lies beyond it, and whilst it is +indulgent to a restless desire to produce, which leads it to nothing +perfect, robs itself of all the culture it might derive through the +perception of foreign excellences. + +Poetical Dilettantism may be of two sorts. Either it neglects the +(indispensable) mechanical, and thinks enough done if it shows mind +and feeling; or it seeks poetry only in the mechanical, acquiring a +technical dexterity therein, but without spirit or significance. Both +are injurious, but the former rather injures the art, and the latter +the subject. + +All Dilettanti are Plagiarists. They enervate and pull to pieces all +that is original in manner or matter, and at the same time imitate, +copy, and piece out their own emptiness with it. Thus the language gets +filled with phrases and formulae stolen from all sides, which have no +longer any meaning, and you may read whole books written in a fine +_style_ and containing nothing. In a word, all that is really beautiful +and good in true poetry is profaned, rendered common, and degraded. + + +_In Pragmatical Poetry_ + +All the disadvantages of Dilettantism in Lyrical Poetry apply here in +a far higher degree. Not the art alone, but the subject also, suffers +more. + +Mixing up of different kinds. + + +_In Histrionic Art_ + +Caricature of one’s own faulty individuality. + +Incapacitates the mind for all occupation, through the illusion of a +fantastic mode of viewing objects. + +Expense of interest and passion, without fruit. + +Eternal circle of monotonous, ever repeated, ineffectual activity. + +(There is nothing so attractive to Dilettanti as rehearsals. +Professional actors hate them.) + +Special forbearance and pampering of theatrical Dilettanti with +applause. + +Eternal stimulation towards a passionate condition and behavior, +without balance. + +Feeding all hateful passions, with the worst results for civic and +domestic existence. + +Blunting the feeling for poetry. + +Use of exalted language for commonplace sentiments. + +A rag-fair of thoughts, commonplaces, and descriptions in the memory. + +Pervading affectation and mannerism, reaching also into life. + +Most injurious indulgence towards the indifferent and faulty, in a +public and quite personal case. + +The general tolerance for the home-made becomes in this case more +pronounced. + +Most pernicious use of amateur comedies for the education of children, +where it turns into caricature. In the same manner, the most dangerous +of all amusements for universities, &c. + +Destruction of the ideality of art, because the Dilettante, not being +able to raise himself through the appropriation of artistic ideas and +traditions, must do all through a pathological reality. + + + + +THE THEORY OF LITERATURE + + + + +THE PRODUCTION OF A NATIONAL CLASSIC[5] + +(_Literarischer Sansculottismus_) + +(1795) + + +Those who consider it an absolute duty to connect definite concepts +with the words which they employ in speaking and writing will very +rarely use the expressions, “classical author” and “classical work.” + +What are the conditions that produce a classical national author? He +must, in the first place, be born in a great commonwealth, which after +a series of great and historic events has become a happy and unified +nation. He must find in his countrymen loftiness of disposition, depth +of feeling, and vigor and consistency of action. He must be thoroughly +pervaded with the national spirit, and through his innate genius feel +capable of sympathizing with the past as well as the present. He must +find his nation in a high state of civilization, so that he will have +no difficulty in obtaining for himself a high degree of culture. He +must find much material already collected and ready for his use, and a +large number of more or less perfect attempts made by his predecessors. +And finally, there must be such a happy conjuncture of outer and inner +circumstances that he will not have to pay dearly for his mistakes, but +that in the prime of his life he may be able to see the possibilities +of a great theme and to develop it according to some uniform plan into +a well-arranged and well-constructed literary work. + +If any one, who is endowed with clearness of vision and fairness of +mind, contrasts these conditions under which alone a classic writer, +especially a classic prose-writer, is possible, with the conditions +under which the best Germans of this century have worked, he will +respect and admire what they have succeeded in doing, and notice with +tactful regret in what they have failed. + +An important piece of writing, like an important speech, can only +be the outgrowth of actual life. The author no more than the man of +action can fashion the conditions under which he is born and under +which he acts. Each one, even the greatest genius, suffers in some +respects from the social and political conditions of his age, just as +in other respects he benefits by them. And only from a real nation +can a national writer of the highest order be expected. It is unfair, +however, to reproach the German nation because, though closely held +together by its geographical position, it is divided politically. We do +not wish for Germany those political revolutions which might prepare +the way for classical works. + +And so any criticism which approaches the question from such a false +point of view is most unfair. The critic must look at our conditions, +as they were and as they now are; he must consider the individual +circumstances under which German writers obtained their training, and +he will easily find the correct point of view. There is nowhere in +Germany a common centre of social culture, where men of letters might +gather together and perfect themselves, each one in his particular +field, in conformity with the same standard. Born in the most widely +scattered portions of the land, educated in the most diverse ways, left +almost entirely to themselves or to impressions derived from the most +varied environments, carried away by a special liking for this or that +example of German or foreign literature, the German men of letters are +forced, without any guidance, to indulge in all sorts of experiments, +even in botch-work, in order to try their powers. Only gradually and +after considerable reflection do they realize what they ought to do. +Practice alone teaches them what they can do. Again and again the +bad taste of a large public, which devours the bad and the good with +equal pleasure, leads them into doubt. Then again an acquaintance +with the educated though widely scattered population of the great +empire encourages them, and the common labors and endeavors of their +contemporaries fortify them. Such are the conditions under which German +writers finally reach man’s estate. Then concern for their own support, +concern for a family, force them to look about in the world at large, +and often with the most depressing feeling, to do work for which they +have no respect themselves, in order to earn a livelihood, so that +they can devote themselves to that kind of work with which alone their +cultured minds would occupy themselves. What German author of note will +not recognize himself in this picture, and will not confess with modest +regret that he often enough sighed for an opportunity to subordinate +sooner the peculiarities of his original genius to a general national +culture, which unfortunately did not exist? + +For foreign customs and literatures, irrespective of the many +advantages they have contributed to the advancement of the higher +classes, have prevented the Germans from developing sooner as Germans. + +And now let us look at the work of German poets and prose-writers of +recognized ability. With what care and what devotion did they not +follow in their labors an enlightened conviction! It is, for example, +not saying too much, when we maintain that a capable and industrious +literary critic, through a comparison of all the editions of our +Wieland,--a man of whom we may proudly boast in spite of the snarling +of all our literary parasites,--could develop the whole theory of +good taste simply from the successive corrections of this author, who +has so indefatigably worked toward his own improvement. We hope that +every librarian will take pains to have such a collection made, while +it is still possible, and then the next century will know how to make +grateful use of it. + +In the future we may perhaps be bold enough to lay before the public a +history of the development of our foremost writers, as it is shown in +their works. We do not expect any confessions, but if they would only +themselves impart to us, as far as they see fit, those facts which +contributed most to their development, and those which stood most in +the way of it, the influence of the good they have done would become +still more far-reaching. + +For if we consider what superficial critics take least notice of,--the +good fortune which young men of talent enjoy nowadays in being able to +develop earlier, and to attain sooner a pure style appropriate to the +subject at hand,--to whom do they owe it but to their predecessors in +the last half of this century, each of whom in his own way has trained +himself with unceasing endeavor amidst all sorts of hindrances? +Through this circumstance a sort of invisible school has sprung up, and +the young man who now enters it gets into a much larger and brighter +circle than the earlier author, who had to roam through it first +himself in the faint light of dawn, in order to help widen it gradually +and as it were only by chance. The pseudo-critic, who would light the +way for us with his little lamp, comes much too late; the day has +dawned, and we shall not close our shutters again. + +Men do not give vent to their ill humor in good society; and he must be +in a very bad humor, who at this present moment, when almost everybody +writes well, denies that Germany has writers of the first order. One +does not need to go far to find an agreeable novel, a clever sketch, a +clearly written essay on this or that subject. What proof do not our +critical papers, journals, and compends furnish of a uniformly good +style? The Germans show a more and more thorough mastery of facts, +and the arrangement of the material steadily gains in clearness. A +dignified philosophy, in spite of all the opposition of wavering +opinions, makes them more and more acquainted with their intellectual +powers, and facilitates the use of them. The numerous examples of +style, the preliminary labors and endeavors of so many men, enable a +young man now sooner to present with clearness and grace and in an +appropriate manner what he has received from without and developed +within himself. Thus a healthy and fair-minded German sees the writers +of his nation at a fair stage of development, and is convinced that +the public, too, will not let itself be misled by an ill-humored +criticaster. Such a one ought to be barred from society, from which +every one should be excluded whose destructive work might only make +productive writers disheartened, the sympathetic public listless, and +the onlookers distrustful and indifferent. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[5] Reply to a critic who complained of “the poverty of the +Germans in great classical prose works,” and indiscriminately attacked +all the writers of the time. + + + + +GOETHE’S THEORY OF A WORLD LITERATURE + + +I (1827) + +Everywhere we hear and read of the progress of the human race, of the +broader view of international and human relations. Since it is not my +office here to define or qualify these broad generalities, I shall +merely acquaint my friends with my conviction that there is being +formed a universal world-literature, in which an honorable rôle is +reserved for us Germans. All the nations review our work; they praise, +censure, accept, and reject, imitate and misrepresent us, open or close +their hearts to us. All this we must accept with equanimity, since this +attitude, taken as a whole, is of great value to us. + +We experience the same thing from our own countrymen, and why should +the nations agree among themselves if fellow-citizens do not understand +how to unite and coöperate with each other? In a literary sense we have +a good start of the other nations; they will always be learning to +prize us more, even if they only show it by borrowing from us without +thanks, and making use of us without giving recognition of the fact. + +As the military and physical strength of a nation develops from +its internal unity and cohesion, so must its æsthetic and ethical +strength grow gradually from a similar unanimity of feeling and +ideas. This, however, can only be accomplished with time. I look +back as a coöperator in this work over many years and reflect how +a German literature has been brought together out of heterogeneous, +if not conflicting, elements,--a literature which for that reason +is only peculiarly _one_ in the sense that it is composed in _one_ +language,--which, however, out of a variety of wholly different +talents and abilities, minds and actions, criticisms and undertakings, +gradually draws out to the light of day the true inner soul of a people. + + +II (1827) + +My sanguine suggestion that our present active epoch with its +increasing communication between the nations might soon hope for a +world-literature has been taken up by chance by our neighbors of the +west, who indeed can accomplish great things in this same direction. +They express themselves on the subject in the following manner: + + +_Le Globe_, Tome V., No. 91. + + “Every nation indeed, when its turn comes, feels that tension which, + like the attractive power of physical bodies, draws one towards + the other, and eventually will unite in one universal sympathy all + the races of which humanity consists. The endeavor of scholars to + understand one another and compare one another’s work is by no means + new; the Latin language in former times has provided an admirable + vehicle for this purpose. But however they labored and strove, the + barriers by which peoples were separated began to divide them also, + and hurt their intellectual intercourse. The instrument of which they + made use could only satisfy a certain range and course of ideas, + so that they touched each other only through the intellect, instead + of directly through the feelings and through poetry. Travel, the + study of languages, periodical literature, have taken the place of + that universal language, and establish many intimate and harmonious + relations which _it_ could never cultivate. Even the nations that + devote themselves chiefly to trade and industry are most concerned + with this exchange of ideas. England, whose home activity is so + tremendous, whose life is so busy, that it seems as if it would be + able to study nothing but itself, at the present time is showing a + symptom of this need and desire to broaden its connection with the + outside world and widen its horizon. Its Reviews, with which we are + already familiar, are not enough for them; two new periodicals, + devoted especially to foreign literature, and coöperating together + towards that end, are to appear regularly.” + +Of the first of these English journals, _The Foreign Quarterly Review_, +there are already two volumes in our hands; the third we expect +directly, and we shall in the course of these pages often refer to the +views of important men who are giving proof, with so much insight and +industry, of their interest in foreign literature. + +But first of all we must confess that it made us smile to see, +at the end of the old year, more than thirty literary almanacs +(_Taschenbücher_), already noticed in an English journal,--not indeed +reviewed, but at least referred to with some characteristic comments. +It is pleasant that our productions of this sort meet with approval +and find a market over there, since we are also obliged to buy their +similar works for good money. Little by little we shall discover, I +suppose, whether the balance of this trade turns out to our advantage. + +But these trivial considerations must give place to more serious ones. +Left to itself every literature will exhaust its vitality, if it is +not refreshed by the interest and contributions of a foreign one. What +naturalist does not take pleasure in the wonderful things that he sees +produced by reflection in a mirror? Now what a mirror in the field of +ideas and morals means, every one has experienced in himself, and once +his attention is aroused, he will understand how much of his education +he owes to it. + + +III (1828) + +The _Edinburgh Review_, as well as the current _Foreign_ and _Foreign +Quarterly Reviews_, we can only mention briefly here. + +These journals, as they win an ever wider public, will contribute in +the most effective way towards that universal world-literature for +which we are hoping. Only, we repeat, the idea is not that the nations +shall think alike, but that they shall learn how to understand each +other, and, if they do not care to love one another, at least that they +will learn to tolerate one another. Several societies now exist for +the purpose of making the British Isles acquainted with the continent, +and are working effectively and with a practical unanimity of opinion. +We continentals can learn from them the intellectual background of +the time across the channel, what they are thinking and what their +judgments about things are. On the whole, we acknowledge gladly that +they go about the work with intense seriousness, with industry and +tolerance and general good-will. The result for us will be that we +shall be compelled to think again of our own recent literature, which +we have in some measure already put to one side, and to consider and +examine it anew. Especially worthy of notice is their profitable method +of starting with any considerable author, and going over the whole +field in which he worked. + +The methods and manner of these critics deserve our consideration in +many ways. Although varying on many points, yet there is an agreement +in criticism upon the main issues, which seems to indicate, if not +a coterie, yet a number of contemporary critics who have come to a +similar attitude and point of view. Worthy of our admiration are the +honest and sincere application, the careful labors, which they devote +to surveying our complex artistic and literary world, and to looking +over it with a just and fair attitude and vision. We shall hope often +to be able to return to them and their work. + + +IV (1829) + +MORE ABOUT A WORLD LITERATURE + + +_The Difficulties_ + +If a world-literature, such as is inevitable with the ever-increasing +facility of communication, is to be formed in the near future, we must +expect from it nothing more and nothing different from what it can and +does accomplish. + +The wide world, extensive as it is, is only an expanded fatherland, +and will, if looked at aright, be able to give us no more than what +our home soil can endow us with also. What pleases the crowd spreads +itself over a limitless field, and, as we already see, meets approval +in all countries and regions. The serious and intellectual meets with +less success, but those who are devoted to higher and more profitable +things will learn to know each other more quickly and more intimately. +For there are everywhere in the world such men, to whom the truth and +the progress of humanity are of interest and concern. But the road +which they pursue, the pace which they keep, is not to everybody’s +liking; the particularly aggressive wish to advance faster, and so +turn aside, and prevent the furthering of that which they could +promote. The serious-minded must therefore form a quiet, almost +secret, company, since it would be futile to set themselves against +the current of the day; rather must they manfully strive to maintain +their position till the flood has past. Their principal consolation, +and indeed encouragement, such men must find in the fact that truth +is serviceable. If they can discover this relation, and exhibit its +meaning and influence in a vital way, they will not fail to produce a +powerful effect, indeed one that will extend over a range of years. + + +_The Encouragements_ + +Since it is often profitable to present to the reader not one’s bald +thought, but rather to awaken and stimulate his own thinking, it may be +useful to recall the above observation which I had occasion to write +down some time ago. + +The question whether this or that occupation to which a man devotes +himself is useful recurs often enough in the course of time, and must +come before us especially at this time when it is no longer permitted +to any one to live quietly according to his tastes, satisfied, +moderate, and without demands upon him. The external world is so +importunate and exciting that each one of us is threatened with being +carried away in the whirlpool. In order to satisfy his own needs, each +one sees himself compelled to attend almost instantaneously to the +requirements of others; and the question naturally arises whether he +has any skill or readiness to satisfy these pressing duties. There +seems to be nothing left to us to say than that only the purest and +strictest egoism can save us; but this must be a self-conscious +resolution, thoroughly felt and calmly expressed. + +Let each one ask himself for what he is best fitted, and let him +cultivate this most ardently and wisely in himself and for himself; +let him consider himself successively as apprentice, as journeyman, as +older journeyman, and finally, but with the greatest of circumspection, +as master. + +If he can, with discriminating modesty, increase his demands on the +external world only with the growth of his own capabilities, thus +insinuating himself into the world’s good graces by being useful, then +he will attain his purpose step by step, and if he succeeds in reaching +the highest level, will be able to influence men and things with ease. + +Life, if he studies it closely, will teach him the opportunities and +the hindrances which present or intrude themselves upon him; but this +much the man of practical wisdom will always have before his eyes:--To +tire oneself out for the sake of the favor of to-day brings no profit +for to-morrow or after. + + +_Other Considerations_ + +Every nation has peculiarities by which it is distinguished from the +others, and it is by these distinguishing traits that nations are also +attracted to and repelled from one another. The external expressions +of these inner idiosyncrasies appear to the others in most cases +strikingly disagreeable, or, if endurable, merely amusing. This is +why, too, we always respect a nation less than it deserves. The inner +traits, on the other hand, are not known or recognized, by foreigners +or even by the nation itself; for the inner nature of a whole nation, +as well as the individual man, works all unconsciously. At the end we +wonder, we are astounded, at what appears. + +These secrets I do not pretend to know, much less to have the +cleverness to express them if I did. Only this much will I say,--that, +so far as my insight goes, the characteristic intellectual and +spiritual activity of the French is now at its height again, and for +that reason will exercise soon again a great influence on the civilized +world. I would gladly say more, but it leads too far; one has to be so +detailed in order to be understood, and to make acceptable what one has +to say. + + * * * * * + +It was not merely permissible but highly admirable that a society of +Germans was formed for the special purpose of studying German poetry; +since these persons, as cultured men acquainted with the other fields +of German literature and politics both generally and in detail, were +well qualified to select and judge works of belles-lettres and use them +as a basis for intellectual, as well as pleasurable and stimulating, +conversation. + +Some one may say that the best literature of a nation cannot be +discovered or recognized, unless one brings home to one’s mind the +whole complex of its circumstances and social conditions. Something +of all this can be obtained from the papers, which give us enough +detailed information of public affairs. But this is not enough; we +must add to it what foreigners in their critical journals and reviews +are accustomed to say about themselves and about other nations, +particularly the Germans,--their ideas and opinions, their interest +in and reception of our productions. If one wishes, for instance, +to acquaint oneself with modern French literature, one should study +the lectures which have been given for the last two years and are +now appearing in print,--lectures such as Guizot’s _Cours d’histoire +moderne_, Villemain’s _Cours de littérature française_, and Cousin’s +_Cours de l’histoire de la philosophie_. The significance they have +both at home and for us comes out thus in the clearest fashion. Still +more effective and interesting are perhaps the frequent numbers and +volumes of _Le Globe_, _La Revue française_, and the daily, _Le Temps_. +None of these can be spared, if we are to keep vividly before our eyes +both sides of these great movements in France and all the subsidiary +currents that spring from them. + + * * * * * + +French poetry, like French literature, is not distinct in spirit from +the life and passions of the nation as a whole. In recent times it +appears naturally always as the “Opposition,” and summons every genius +to make the most of his talent in resisting the “powers that be,” which +since they are endowed with force do not need to be intellectual or +spiritual. + +If we follow this verse, which reveals so much, we see deep down into +the soul of the nation, and from the way in which they judge us, more +or less favorably, we can at the same time learn to judge ourselves. +And it can do no harm to have some one make us think about ourselves. + +Whoever follows the course proposed above will very quickly become +completely informed of all public affairs and semi-public affairs. In +our present admirably managed book-trade it is possible to obtain books +speedily, instead of waiting, as has often been my experience, until +the author takes occasion to send his work as a gift, so that I have +often read the book long before I received it from him. + +From all this it is evident that it is no light task to keep in touch +with all the literature of the present day. Of the English, as well as +the Italian, I shall have to speak again more particularly, for there +is much more to be said. + + +V + +(1830) + +There has been talk for some time of a general world-literature, and +indeed not without justice. For the nations, after they had been shaken +into confusion and mutual conflict by the terrible wars, could not +return to their settled and independent life again without noticing +that they had learned many foreign ideas and ways, which they had +unconsciously adopted, and had come to feel here and there previously +unrecognized spiritual and intellectual needs. Out of this arose the +feeling of neighborly relations, and, instead of shutting themselves up +as before, they gradually came to desire the adoption of some sort of +more or less free spiritual intercourse. + +This movement, it is true, has lasted only a short time, but still +long enough to start considerable speculation, and to acquire from it, +as one must always from any kind of foreign trade, both profit and +enjoyment. + + + + +ON EPIC AND DRAMATIC POETRY[6] + +(1797) + + +The epic and the dramatic writer are both subject to the universal +poetic laws, especially the law of unity and the law of progressive +development. Furthermore they both deal with similar subjects and both +can use a great variety of motives. The essential difference consists +in this, that an epic poet narrates an event as completely past, while +the dramatist presents it as completely present. If one wished to +develop in detail from the nature of man these laws which both have to +follow, one would continually have to keep before his mind a rhapsodist +and an actor, each in the character of a poet, the former surrounded +by a circle of listeners quietly following with rapt attention, the +latter by an impatient throng who have come simply to see and to hear. +It would then not be difficult to deduce what is most advantageous to +either of these two forms of poetry, what subjects either will choose +preëminently, nor what motives either will make use of most frequently; +as I remarked in the beginning, neither can lay claim to any one thing +exclusively. + +The subject of the epic as well as of tragedy should be based on the +purely human, it should be vital, and it should make an appeal to one’s +feelings. The best effect is produced when the characters stand upon +a certain plane of cultural advancement, so that their actions are +purely the expression of their personality and are not influenced by +moral, political or mechanical considerations. The myths of the heroic +times were especially useful to the poets on these grounds. + +The epic poem represents more especially action restricted to +individuals; tragedy, suffering restricted to individuals. The epic +poem represents man as an external agent, engaged in battles, journeys, +in fact in every possible kind of undertaking, and so demands a certain +elaborateness of treatment. Tragedy, on the other hand, represents man +as an internal agent, and the action, therefore, requires but little +space in a genuine tragedy. + +There are five kinds of motives: + +(1) Progressive, which advance the action. These the drama uses +preëminently. + +(2) Retrogressive, which draw the action away from its goal. These the +epic poem uses almost exclusively. + +(3) Retarding, which delay the progress of the action or lengthen its +course. Both epic and tragic poetry use these to very great advantage. + +(4) Retrospective, which introduce into the poem events which happened +before the time of the poem. + +(5) Prospective, which anticipate what will happen after the time of +the poem. The epic as well as the dramatic poet uses the last two kinds +of motives to make his poem complete. + +The worlds which are to be represented are common to both, namely:-- + +(1) The physical world, which consists first of all of the immediate +world to which the persons represented belong and which surrounds them. +In it the dramatist limits himself mostly to one locality, while the +epic poet moves about with greater freedom and in a larger sphere. +Secondly, the physical world, containing the more remote world in +which all of nature is included. This world the epic poet, who appeals +exclusively to the imagination, makes more intelligible through the use +of similes and metaphors, which figures of speech are employed more +sparingly by the dramatist. + +(2) The moral world, which is absolutely common to both, and, whether +normal or pathological, is best represented in its simplicity. + +(3) The world of fancies, forebodings, apparitions, chance and fate. +This is available to both, only it must of course be approximated +to the world of the senses. In this world there arises a special +difficulty for us moderns, because we cannot easily find substitutes +for the fabulous creatures, gods, soothsayers and oracles of the +ancients, however much we may desire to. + +If we consider the manner of treatment as a whole, we shall find the +rhapsodist, who recites what is completely past, appearing as a wise +man, with calm deliberation surveying the events. It will be the +purpose of his recital to get his hearers into an even frame of mind, +so that they will listen to him long and willingly. He will divide +the interest evenly, because it is impossible for him to counteract +quickly a too vivid impression. He will, according to his pleasure, +go back in point of time or anticipate what is to come. We may follow +him everywhere, for he makes his appeal only to the imagination, which +originates its own images and which is to a certain extent indifferent +as to which images are called up. The rhapsodist as a higher being +ought not to appear himself in his poem; he would read best of all +behind a curtain, so that we may separate everything personal from his +work, and may believe we are hearing only the voice of the Muses. + +The actor represents the very reverse of this. He presents himself as +a definite individuality. It is his desire to have us take interest +exclusively in him and in his immediate surroundings, so that we may +feel with him the sufferings of his soul and of his body, may share his +embarrassments and forget ourselves in him. To be sure he, too, will +proceed by degrees, but he can risk far more vivid effects, because by +his actual presence before the eyes of the audience he can neutralize +a stronger impression even by a weaker one. The senses of spectators +and listeners must be constantly stimulated. They must not rise to a +contemplative frame of mind, but must follow eagerly; their imagination +must be completely suppressed; no demands must be made upon it; and +even what is narrated must be vividly brought before their vision, as +it were, in terms of action. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[6] By Goethe and Schiller. + + + + +SUPPLEMENT TO ARISTOTLE’S _POETICS_[7] + +(1827) + + +Every one who has concerned himself at all about the theory of poetic +art--and of tragedy in particular--will remember a passage in Aristotle +which has caused the commentators much difficulty, without their ever +having been able to convince themselves wholly of its meaning. In his +definition of tragedy this great writer seems to demand of it that, +through the representation of stirring deeds and events, which should +arouse pity and fear, the soul of the spectator should be purified of +these passions. + +My thoughts and convictions in regard to this passage I can best impart +by a translation of it:-- + +“Tragedy is the imitation of a significant and complete action, which +has a certain extension in time and is portrayed in beautiful language +by separate individuals, each of whom plays a rôle, instead of having +all represented by one person as in the narration of a story or epic. +After a course of events arousing pity and fear, the action closes with +the equilibration of these passions.” + +In the foregoing translation, I believe I have made this hitherto +dubious passage clear; it will only be necessary to add the following +remarks: Could Aristotle, notwithstanding his always objective +manner,--as, for instance, here, where he seems to be speaking +exclusively of the technique of tragedy,--be really thinking of the +effect, indeed the distant effect, upon the _spectator_? By no means! +He speaks clearly and definitely: When the course of action is one +arousing pity and fear, the tragedy must close _on the stage_ with an +equilibration, a reconciliation, of these emotions. + +By “catharsis,” he understands this reconciling culmination, which is +demanded of all drama, indeed of all poetical works. + +This occurs in the tragedy through a kind of human sacrifice, whether +it be rigidly worked out with the death of the victim, or, under the +influence of a favoring divinity, be satisfied by a substitute, as +in the case of Abraham and Agamemnon. But this reconciliation, this +release, is necessary at the end if the tragedy is to be a perfect +work of art. This release, on the other hand, when effected through +a favorable or desirable outcome, rather makes the work resemble an +intermediate species of art, as in the return of Alcestis. In comedy, +on the contrary, for the clearing up of all complications, which +in themselves are of little significance from the point of view of +arousing fear and hope, a marriage is usually introduced; and this, +even if it does not end life completely, does make in it an important +and serious break. Nobody wants to die, everybody to marry; and in +this lies the half-jocose, half-serious difference between tragedy and +comedy in practical æsthetics. + +We shall perceive further that the Greeks did make use of their +“trilogy” for such a purpose; for there is no loftier “catharsis” than +the _Œdipus of Kolonus_, where a half-guilty delinquent,--a man who, +through a demonic strain in his nature, through the sombre vehemence as +well as greatness of his character, and through a headstrong course of +action, puts himself at the mercy of the ever-inscrutable, unalterable +powers,--plunges himself and his family into the deepest, irreparable +misery, and yet finally, after having made atonement and reparation, is +raised to the company of the gods, as the auspicious protecting spirit +of a region, revered with special sacrifices and services. + +Here we find the principle of the great master, that the hero of a +tragedy must be regarded and represented neither as wholly guilty nor +as wholly innocent. In the first case the catharsis would merely result +from the nature of the story, and the murdered wretch would appear only +to have escaped the common justice which would have fallen upon him +anyway by law. In the second case, it is not feasible either; for then +there would seem to fall on human power or fate the weight of an all +too heavy burden of injustice. + +But on this subject I do not wish to wax polemical, any more than on +any other; I have only to point out here how up to the present time +people have been inclined to put up with a dubious interpretation of +this passage. Aristotle had said in the _Politics_ that music could be +made use of in education for ethical purposes, since by means of the +sacred melodies the minds of those raised to frenzy by the orgies were +quieted and soothed again; thus he thought other emotions and passions +could be calmed and equilibrated. That the argument here is from +analogous cases we cannot deny; yet we think they are not identical. +The effect of music depends on its particular character, as Handel has +worked out in his “Alexander’s Feast,” and as we can see evidenced at +every ball, where perhaps after a chaste and dignified polonaise, a +waltz is played and whirls the whole company of young people away in a +bacchic frenzy. + +For music, like all the arts, has little power directly to influence +morality, and it is always wrong to demand such results from them. +Philosophy and Religion alone can accomplish this. If piety and duty +must be stimulated, the arts can only casually effect this stimulation. +What they can accomplish, however, is a softening of crude manners and +morals; yet even this may, on the other hand, soon degenerate into +effeminacy. + +Whoever is on the path of a truly moral and spiritual self-cultivation, +will feel and acknowledge that tragedy and tragic romance do not quiet +and satisfy the mind, but rather tend to unsettle the emotions and +what we call the heart, and induce a vague, unquiet mood. Youth is apt +to love this mood and is for that reason passionately devoted to such +productions. + +We now return to our original point, and repeat: Aristotle speaks of +the _technique_ of tragedy, in the sense that the poet, making it the +object of his attention, contrives to create something pleasing to eye +and ear in a course of a completed action. + +If the poet has fulfilled this purpose and his duty on his side, tying +together his knots of meaning and unraveling them again, the same +process will pass before the mind of the spectator; the complications +will perplex him, the solution enlighten him, but he will not go home +any the better for it all. He will be inclined perhaps, if he is given +to reflection, to be amazed at the state of mind in which he finds +himself at home again--just as frivolous, as obstinate, as zealous, as +weak, as tender or as cynical as he was when he went out. On this point +we believe we have said all we can until a further working out of the +whole subject makes it possible to understand it more clearly. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[7] “I have just re-read the _Poetics_ of Aristotle with the +greatest pleasure; intelligence in its highest manifestation is a fine +thing. It is really remarkable how Aristotle limits himself entirely to +experience, and so appears, if perhaps somewhat material, for the most +part all the more solid. It was also stimulating to me to see with what +liberality he always shields the poet against the fault-finders and the +hypercritical, how he always insists on essentials, and in everything +else is so lax that in more than one place I was simply amazed. It +is this that makes his whole view of poetry, and especially of his +favorite forms, so vivifying that I shall soon take up the book again, +especially in regard to some important passages which are not quite +clear and the meaning of which I wish to investigate further.”--Goethe +to Schiller, April 28, 1797. + + + + +ON THE GERMAN THEATRE + +(1815) + + +Now that the German stage, as one of our best national institutions, is +emerging from an unfortunate narrowness and seclusion into freedom and +vitality, wise directors are exerting themselves to produce an effect +on a wide public, and not to confine themselves, however earnestly, to +any single institution. Poets, actors, managers, and public will come +to a better and better’ mutual understanding, but in the gratification +of the moment they must not forget what their predecessors +accomplished. Only upon a repertory which includes older plays can a +national theatre be founded. I hope that the following words will have +a favorable reception, so that the author’s courage will be stimulated +and he will come forward from time to time with similar suggestions. + + +_A Plan of Schiller’s, and What Came of It_ + +When the lamented Schiller, through the influence of the court, the +solicitations of society, and the inclinations of his friends, was +moved to change his place of residence from Jena to Weimar, and to +renounce that seclusion in which until then he had wrapt himself, he +had the theatre at Weimar particularly in his mind, and he decided to +devote his attention carefully and closely to the productions there. + +And such a narrowing of his field the poet needed, for his +extraordinary genius from his youth up had sought the heights and the +depths. The power of his imagination, his poetical activity, had led +him over a great range; but in spite of the ardor with which his mind +traversed this broad range, with further experience it could not escape +his clear insight that these qualities must necessarily lead him astray +in the field of the theatre. + +At Jena his friends had been witness to the perseverance and resolute +determination with which he occupied himself with “Wallenstein.” This +subject, which kept expanding at the hands of his genius, was worked +out, knit together, revised, in numerous ways, until he saw at last +that it would be necessary to divide the piece into three parts, as was +thereupon done. And afterwards he did not cease to make alterations, in +order that the principal scenes might acquire all the effect that was +possible. The result was, however, that the _Death of Wallenstein_ was +given oftener on all stages than the _Camp_ and the _Piccolomini_. + +_Don Carlos_ had been condensed still earlier for the stage; and +whoever will compare this play, as it is produced, with the earlier +printed edition, will recognize the same laborious changes. For though +Schiller in sketching out the plan of his work felt bound by no +limitations, in a later revision for theatrical purposes he had the +courage, as a result of his convictions, to adapt it stringently, yes +even mercilessly, to the practical exigencies of the situation. These +meant a definite limitation of time; all the principal scenes had to +pass before the eyes of the audience in a certain period of time. All +the other scenes he omitted, and yet he could never really confine +himself to the space of three hours. + +_The Robbers_, _Intrigue and Love_, _Fiesco_, productions of +an aggressive youthful impatience and indignation at a severe +and confining training, had to undergo many alterations for the +stage-production which was eagerly demanded by the public and +especially the young men. About them all he would speculate whether it +was not possible to assimilate them to a more refined taste, a taste +such as he had trained himself since to feel. On this point he was +accustomed to take long and detailed counsel with himself, in long +sleepless nights, and sometimes on pleasant evenings in talks with his +friends. + +Could these discussions and suggestions have been preserved by a +shorthand writer, we should have possessed a noteworthy contribution to +productive criticism. But even more valuable will discerning readers +find Schiller’s own remarks about the projected and indeed commenced +“Demetrius,” which fine example of penetrating and critical creative +ability is preserved for us in the supplement to his works. The three +plays mentioned above, however, we decided not to touch, for what is +offensive in them is too closely bound up with their contents and form; +and we had to trust to fortune in transmitting them to posterity just +as they had sprung from a powerful and bizarre genius. + +Schiller, finely matured, had not attended many performances, when his +active mind, considering the situation and taking a comprehensive view +of things, got the idea that what had been done to his own works could +be done in the case of other men’s. So he drew up a plan whereby the +work of earlier playwrights might be preserved for the German theatre, +without prejudice to contemporary writers,--the accepted material, the +contents of the works chosen, to be adapted to a form which should be +partly determined by the requirements of the stage and partly by the +ideas and spirit of the present time. For these reasons he decided to +devote the hours which were left him from his own work to constructing +plans, in company with congenial friends, whereby plays which had a +significance for our age might be revised, and a true German Theatre +founded,--not only for the benefit of the reader, who would come to +know famous plays from a new standpoint, but also for the benefit of +the numerous theatres of Germany, which would be given the opportunity +of strengthening their repertories by laying a solid foundation of +older works under the ephemeral productions of the day. + +In order then to found the German Theatre on true German soil, it was +Schiller’s intention to revise Klopstock’s _Hermanns Schlacht_. The +play was taken up, but the first consideration of it produced much +doubt in his mind. Schiller’s judgment was in general very liberal, +but at the same time independent and critical. The ideal demands +which Schiller according to his nature was obliged to make were not +satisfied, and the piece was soon laid aside. Present-day criticism +requires no hints in order to discover the grounds for the decision. + +Towards Lessing’s work Schiller had a singular attitude. He did not +care particularly for it,--indeed, _Emilia Galotti_ was repugnant to +him. Yet this tragedy as well as _Minna von Barnhelm_ was accepted +in the repertory. He then devoted himself to _Nathan der Weise_, and +in this revision, in which he was glad to have the coöperation of +discerning friends, the piece is played to this day, and it will be +retained on the boards, because able actors will always be found who +feel themselves equal to the rôle of Nathan. And may the German public +remember always that it is called not only to witness this well-known +piece, so excellently staged, but also to hear it and to understand it! +May there never come a time when the divine spirit of toleration and +forbearance contained in it will cease to be sacred to the nation. + +The presence of the distinguished Iffland in 1796 gave occasion for +the shortening of _Egmont_ to the form in which it is now given here +and in several places at present. That Schiller rather mutilated it +in his revision is indicated by a comparison of the following scenes +with the printed play itself. The public was annoyed at the omission +of the Princess, for instance; yet there is in Schiller’s work such a +consistency that no one has dared to attempt to alter the piece for +fear that other errors and misadjustments might creep into its present +form. + + +_Egmont_ + +(_First Act_) + +In an open square, cross-bow shooters. One of Egmont’s men is being +elevated to the post of captain, through his skill in shooting, and +his health and that of the lord are being drunk; public affairs are +discussed, and the characters of distinguished persons. The disposition +of the people begins to show itself. Other citizens come in; unrest is +revealed. A lawyer joins them, and begins to discuss the liberties of +the people. Dissent and quarrels follow. Egmont enters, quiets his +men, and threatens the trouble-maker. He exhibits himself as an honored +and popular prince. + + +(_Second Act_) + +Egmont and his private secretary, through whose discourse one catches +a glimpse of the liberal, independent, audacious spirit of the hero. +Orange attempts to inculcate caution into his friend, and since word +has come of the arrival of the Duke of Alva, tries to persuade him to +flee; but all in vain. + + +(_Third Act_) + +The citizens in fear of the impending danger; the lawyer foretells +Egmont’s fate; the Spanish watch enters, and the people scatter. + +In a room in one of the houses we find Klaerchen thinking of her love +for Egmont. She seeks to spurn the affection of her lover Brackenburg, +then proceeds with mingled pleasure and dread to think of her relations +with Egmont; he enters, and all is joy and happiness. + + +(_Fourth Act_) + +The Palace. Alva’s character becomes evident through his measures; +Ferdinand, his natural son, who is attracted by the personality of +Egmont, is ordered to take him prisoner, in order that he himself may +become accustomed to tyranny. Egmont and Alva in conversation; the +former frank and open, the latter reserved and at the same time tries +to irritate Egmont. The latter is arrested. + +Brackenburg on the street; twilight. Klaerchen wishes to incite the +citizens to liberate Egmont, but they withdraw in alarm; Brackenburg, +alone with Klaerchen, attempts to calm her, but in vain. + + +(_Fifth Act_) + +Klaerchen alone in a room. Brackenburg brings the news of preparations +for Egmont’s execution. Klaerchen takes poison, Brackenburg rushes +away, the lamp goes out, signifying that Klaerchen has passed away. + +The prison, Egmont alone. The sentence of death is announced to him. +Scene with Ferdinand, his young friend. Egmont, alone, falls asleep. +Vision of Klaerchen in the background. He is waked by drums, and +follows the watch, almost with the air of the commander himself. + +Concerning the last appearance of Klaerchen, opinions are divided; +Schiller was opposed to it, the author in favor of it; the public will +not allow it to be omitted. + + * * * * * + +Since the present discussion does not attempt to deal with plays +chronologically but with reference to other considerations, and +particularly from the standpoint of author and adapter, I shall turn +next to _Stella_, which also owes its appearance in the theatre to +Schiller. + +Since the action of the piece is unimpassioned and smooth, he left it +substantially unchanged, only shortening the dialogue here and there, +especially when it seemed to be passing from the dramatic to the +idyllic and elegiac. For just as there may be too many incidents in a +piece, so there may be too great an expression of feeling. So Schiller +resisted the enticements of many charming passages and struck them +relentlessly out. Well-staged, the piece was presented on January 15, +1806, for the first time, and repeated. It soon became evident that, +according to our customs, which are founded strictly on monogamy, the +relation of a man to two wives, especially as it appeared in this play, +was not to be reconciled, and for that reason was only fit material +for tragedy. For that reason the attempt of the intelligent Cecilie +to harmonize the incongruities proved futile. The piece took a tragic +turn, and ended in a way that satisfied the emotions and elevated +the feelings. At present the piece is quite competently acted, and +consequently receives the most unqualified applause. But a sweeping +assurance of this kind can hardly be of practical utility to the +playhouses which intend to put on the piece; and I therefore add in +detail some further and necessary considerations. + +The rôle of Fernando every actor, not too young, will be glad to +undertake, actors, that is, who are fitted to heroic or lovers’ rôles, +and they will try to express with all the emotion and effect possible, +the impassioned dilemma in which they are placed. + +The allotment of the feminine rôles is more difficult. There are +five of them,--carefully differentiated and contrasted characters. +The actress who undertakes the rôle of Stella must depict to us not +only her indestructible affection, her passionate love, her glowing +enthusiasm, but must also make us share her feeling, and carry us along +with her. + +Cecilie, who at first appears weak and repressed, must soon leave this +all behind her, and appear before us as a high-spirited heroine of +courage and intelligence. + +Lucia represents a person who in the midst of an easy and comfortable +life has cultivated her talents independently, does not feel the outer +pressures which force themselves upon her, but rather casts them off. +Not a trace of priggishness or conceit should appear. + +The postmistress is no quarrelsome old woman, but a young, cheerful, +active widow, who would like to marry again only in order to be better +obeyed. + +Ann, if possible, should be acted by a little child. In the mouth of a +child, if she speaks clearly, the decisiveness of what she has to say +sounds extremely well. If the proper contrasts and shading are given to +all these characters, this tragedy will not miss its effect. + +The first act, which portrays external life, should be mastered with +extraordinary care and thoroughness, and even the unimportant incidents +ought to betray a certain artistic fitness. The sounding of the +posthorn twice, for instance, produces an agreeable and even artistic +effect. The steward also should not be impersonated by a mediocre but +by an excellent actor, who will play the rôle of the kindly old man +called to a lover’s aid. + +If one considers the incredible advantage which the composer has in +being able to indicate in his score all his wishes and intentions by +a thousand words and signs, one will pardon the dramatic poet also +if he seeks to enjoin upon the directors and managers what he holds +indispensable for the success of his work. + +_Die Laune des Verliebten_ was produced at the theatre in March, 1805, +just when this little piece was forty years old. In it everything +depends on the rôle of Egle. If a versatile actress can be found +who expresses the character perfectly, then the piece is safe, and +is witnessed with pleasure. One of our most agreeable and charming +actresses, who was going to Breslau, took it to the theatre there. An +ingenious writer made use of the idea of the character and composed +several pieces with this motive for the actress. _Stella_ is also at +present well received in Berlin. + +Here I venture to make an observation which seems to me worth +careful consideration on the part of stage-managers. If one tries to +discover just why certain pieces, to which some worth is not to be +denied, either are never produced or else, even when they make a good +impression for a time, yet little by little disappear from the boards, +one will find that the cause lies neither with the piece nor with the +public, but that the necessary actors are lacking. For this reason it +is advisable that pieces should not be laid entirely aside or dropped +from the repertory. Rather let them be kept constantly in mind, even +if there is no opportunity to give them for years. Then when the time +comes that the rôles can be adequately filled again, one does not lose +the chance of making an excellent impression. + +Thus, for instance, the German theatre would experience a great change +if a figure like the famous Seylerin should appear, with a genuine +dramatic talent trained according to our modern requirements. Speedily +would Medea, Semiramis, Agrippina and other heroines, which we think +of as so colossal, be resurrected from the grave; other rôles besides +would be transformed. Think only of such a figure as Orsina, and +_Emilia Galotti_ is quite another play; the Prince is exonerated as +soon as one realizes that so powerful and imperious a person is the +encumbrance upon his shoulders. + +We turn now to the _Mitschuldigen_. That it has a certain dramatic +value may be inferred from the fact that, at a time when all German +actors seemed afraid of rhythm and rhyme, it was turned into prose and +produced at the theatre, where it could not maintain itself because +a principal feature, the poetic rhythm and the rhyme, was lacking. +But now, when the actors are more skilled in both, this attempt could +be made. Some of its crudities were removed, some archaic touches +modernized, and thus it continues to hold the boards still if the cast +is good. It was put on at the same time as _Die Laune des Verliebten_, +in March, 1805. Schiller made many suggestions for the production, +but he did not live to see the _Raetsel_ produced in September of the +same year. This had a great success, but the author desired to remain +anonymous for a long time. Afterwards, however, he published a sequel, +and the two pieces help to support each other. + +Let us not hesitate in the German theatre, where there appears so much +variety besides, to place side by side pieces of similar motive and +atmosphere, in order that we may at least give a certain breadth to the +different departments of dramatic production. + +_Iphigenia_, not without some abbreviation, was put on the Weimar +stage as early as 1802; _Tasso_ first in 1807 after a long and quiet +preparation. Both plays continue to hold the boards, with the support +of actors and actresses who are exceptionally excellent and well +adapted to the rôles. + +Finally we shall mention _Goetz von Berlichingen_, which was produced +for the first time in September, 1804. Although Schiller himself would +not undertake this new revision, he coöperated in every possible way, +and was able by his bold resolution to facilitate for the author many +a point of revision; from the beginning to the final production he +was most influential and effective both in word and deed. Since it is +produced at few theatres, it may be worth while to relate here briefly +the action of the piece, and to point out in general the principles +according to which this revision was made. + + +_Goetz von Berlichingen_ + +(_First Act_) + +By the insults which are accorded his servants by some peasants in the +inn at Bamberg, we learn of the hostility between Goetz and the Bishop. +Some horsemen in the service of this knight enter and relate that +Weislingen, the Bishop’s right-hand man, is in the neighborhood. They +hurry away to notify their master. + +Goetz appears in front of a hut in the woods, alert and listening. A +stable-boy, George, declares himself a future hero. Brother Martin +expresses envy of the soldiers, husband, and father. The servants come +in with the news, Goetz hastens away, and the boy is quieted by the +present of a saint’s picture. + +At Jaxthausen, Goetz’s castle, we find his wife, sister and son. The +former exhibits herself as a capable noblewoman, the latter as a +tender-hearted woman, the son as rather effeminate. Faud brings word +that Weislingen is captured and Goetz is bringing him in. The women +go out; the two knights enter; by Goetz’s frank demeanor and the +narration of old stories, Weislingen’s heart is touched. Maria and Karl +come in; the child invites them to sit down at table, Maria asks them +to be friends. The knights give each other their hands, Maria stands +between them. + + +(_Second Act_) + +Maria and Weislingen enter. They have become lovers. Goetz and +Elizabeth appear; they are all busy with hopes and plans. Weislingen is +happy in his new situation. Franz, Weislingen’s lad, comes from Bamberg +and awakes old memories; he also draws a picture of the dangerous +Adelaide of Walldorf. His passion for this lady is not to be mistaken, +and we begin to fear that he will carry away his master with him. + +Hans von Selbitz comes in, representing himself to the Lady Elizabeth +as a merry knight-errant. Goetz gives him welcome. The news that +merchants from Nuremberg are passing by to the fair is brought in; they +go out. In the forest we find the merchants from Nuremberg; they are +fallen upon and robbed. Through George, Goetz learns that Weislingen +has left him. Goetz is inclined to work off his chagrin on the captured +merchants, but he is moved to give back a jewel-box which a lover is +taking to his mistress; for Goetz thinks with sadness how he must break +the news to his sister of the loss of her betrothed. + + +(_Third Act_) + +Two merchants appear in the pleasure-gardens at Augsburg. Maximilian, +vexed, refuses to see them. Weislingen encourages them, and makes use +of the opportunity to influence the Emperor against Goetz and other +unruly knights. + +Here the relations between Weislingen and his wife Adelaide develop; +she compels him unconditionally to promote her ambitions. The growing +passion of Franz for her, the wanton arts used to seduce him, become +apparent. + +We now return to Jaxthausen. Sickingen woos Maria. Selbitz brings the +news that Goetz is declared an outlaw. They seize weapons. Lerse is +announced; Goetz receives him joyfully. + +We are now on a mountain; wide view, ruined tower, castle and rocks. +A gipsy family is here seeking protection from the dangers of the +military campaign and the unrest of the country. They serve to give +coherence to the following scenes. The captain of the Imperial troops +enters, gives his orders, makes himself comfortable. The gipsies cajole +him. George comes suddenly upon the summit; Selbitz is brought in +wounded, having been attacked by servants of the Emperor, and rescued +by Lerse. He is visited by Goetz. + + +(_Fourth Act_) + +Jaxthausen. Maria and Sickingen, with them the victorious Goetz. +He is afraid that he will be surrounded. Maria and Sickingen are +married; Goetz persuades them to leave the castle. Summons, a siege, +brave resistance, the family table once more; Lerse brings news of a +capitulation; treachery. + +Weislingen’s and Adelaide’s dwelling in Augsburg. Night. Adelaide’s +masked ball. It is noticeable that the Archduke is her centre of +interest at this occasion; but she is able to silence the jealous Franz +and use him for her purposes. + +Tavern at Heilbronn. The Town Hall there. Goetz’s daring and boldness. +Sickingen releases him. The familiar scenes are left in. + + +(_Fifth Act_) + +A wood. Goetz and George lying in wait for a wild animal. It is +painfully evident out here that Goetz cannot cross his boundaries. We +realize the mischief of the peasant war. The monster advances; Max +Stumpf, whom they have dragged along with them as a guide and leader, +decides to leave them and the position. Goetz, half persuaded, half +compelled, yields, announces himself as their captain for four weeks +and breaks his ban. The peasants are divided in spirit, and the devil +is loose. + +Weislingen appears at the head of knights and soldiers against the +rebels, in order especially to capture Goetz, and thus free himself +from the hateful feeling of inferiority. Relations with his wife are +very strained; Franz’s overwhelming passion becomes more and more +evident. Goetz and George in the painful situation of being associated +and implicated with rebels. + +A secret judgment is issued against him. Goetz flees to the gipsies and +is captured by the Imperial troops. + +Adelaide’s palace. The adventuress parts with the happy youth, +after she has prevailed upon him to bring poison to her husband. An +apparition appears; a powerful scene follows. + +From these dismal surroundings, we pass to a bright spring garden. +Maria is sleeping in a bower of flowers. Lerse comes to her, and rouses +her to beg Weislingen for her brother’s life. + +Weislingen’s palace. The dying man, with Maria and Franz. Goetz’s +sentence to death is revoked, and we leave the dying hero in the prison +garden. + + * * * * * + +The principles of the earlier revisions were again applied in this +case. The number of scene-changes was lessened, securing more +opportunity for the development of the characters, the action was +condensed, and, though with many sacrifices, the play finally +approximated genuine dramatic form. Why it has not in this form spread +more widely on the German stage will be eventually understood, I +presume, since critics are not disinclined to give accounts of the +reception on the stage of the plays of the various German authors, the +treatment they receive and the length of time their pieces last. + +If these remarks are favorably received, we shall probably discuss next +the introduction of foreign plays, such as has already taken place at +the Weimar Theatre. This includes Greek and French, English, Italian +and Spanish plays, besides the comedies of Terence and Plautus, in +which masks are made use of. + +Most necessary would it be perhaps to discuss Shakespeare and combat +the prejudice that the works of this extraordinary writer should be +given in the German Theatre in their complete length and breadth. +This false idea has meant the suppression of the older revisions of +Schroeder, and prevented others from prospering. + +It must be emphatically insisted, and with solid reason, that in this +case as in so many others the reader must be distinguished from and +part company with the spectator; each has his rights, and neither +should be permitted to injure the other’s. + + + + +LUDWIG TIECK’S _DRAMATURGIC FRAGMENTS_ + +(1826) + + +My mind has been stimulated in many ways by this noteworthy book. + +As a dramatic poet, as a writer who by extensive travels and by +personal observation and study of foreign theatres has qualified +himself as a critic of insight and knowledge in connection with +our native theatre, and as one who by scholarly study has fitted +himself to be a historian of past and present times, the author has +an assured position with the German public, which is here especially +evident and notable. In him, criticism rests upon pleasure, pleasure +upon knowledge, and these criteria, which are usually thought of as +distinct, are here fused into a satisfying whole. + +His reverence for Kleist is highly praiseworthy. As far as I am +personally concerned, in spite of the sincerest desire to appreciate +him justly, Kleist always arouses in me horror and aversion, as of a +body intended by nature to be beautiful, but seized by an incurable +illness. Tieck is the very reverse; he dwells rather upon the good that +has been left by nature; the deformity he puts aside, excusing much +more than he blames. For, after all, this man of genius deserves only +our pity; on this point we do reach agreement. + +I also agree with him willingly when, as champion for the unity, +indivisibility and inviolability of Shakespeare’s plays, he wants +to have them put on the stage without revision or modification from +beginning to end. + +When ten years ago I was of the contrary opinion, and made more +than one attempt to select only the particularly effective parts of +Shakespeare’s plays, rejecting the disturbing and the diffuse, I was +quite right, as director of the theatre, in doing so. For I had had +experience in tormenting myself and the actors for the space of a +month, and of finally putting on a production which indeed entertained +and aroused admiration, but which on account of conditions hardly +possible to fulfil more than once, could not maintain its place in the +repertory. Still I am perfectly willing that such attempts should here +and there be made, for, on the whole, failure does no harm. + +Since men are not to get rid of longing and aspiration, it is salutary +for them to direct their unsatisfied idealism towards some definite +object, to work, for instance, towards depicting a mighty though +vanished past seriously and worthily in the present. Now actors as well +as poets and readers have the opportunity to study and see Shakespeare, +and, through their endeavors to attain the unattainable, disclose the +true inner capabilities and potentialities of their own nature. + +Though in these respects I completely approve of the valuable efforts +of my old co-worker, I must confess that I differ from him in some +of his utterances; as, for instance, that “Lady Macbeth is a tender, +loving soul, and as such should be played.” I do not consider such +remarks to be really the author’s opinion, but rather paradoxes, which +in view of the weighty authority of our author can only work great harm. + +It is in the nature of the case, and Tieck himself has presented +significant illustrations of the fact, that an actor who does not feel +himself to be quite in agreement with the conventional portrayal, may +in clever fashion modify and adjust it to himself and his own nature, +and fit the new interpretation so well as to provide, as it were, a new +and brilliant creation, and indemnify us for the clever fiction with +unexpected and delightful new grounds of comparison and contrast. + +This we must admit as valid; but we cannot approve the case where the +theorist makes certain intimations to the actor, whereby the latter is +led astray to portray the rôle in a new manner and style against the +obvious intention of the poet. + +From many viewpoints such an undertaking is questionable. The public +is looking for authority always; and it is right. For do we not act +similarly in taking counsel in joy and sorrow with those who are well +versed in the wisdom of art and of life? Whoever then has acquired any +legitimate authority in any field should strive, by continual assiduity +in holding close to the line of the true and the right, to preserve +that authority in inviolable sanctity. + +An important paper is Tieck’s explanation of the _Piccolomini_ and +the _Wallenstein_. I saw these plays develop from beginning to end, +and I am filled with admiration at the degree of penetration which he +shows in treating a work which, although one of the most excellent not +only on the German stage but on all stages, yet in itself is unequal, +and for that reason often fails to satisfy the critic, although the +crowd, which does not take the separate parts with such strictness, is +necessarily charmed with it as a whole. + +Most of the places where Tieck finds something to criticize, I find +reason to consider as pathological. If Schiller had not been suffering +from a long wasting disease, which finally killed him, the whole thing +would have been different. Our correspondence, which relates in the +clearest way the circumstances under which _Wallenstein_ was written, +will stimulate thoughtful people to much profitable reflection, and +persuade them to think ever more seriously how closely our æsthetics +is connected with physiology, pathology, and physics: in this way they +may realize the light which these sciences throw upon the conditions +to which individuals as well as whole nations, the most extensive +world-epochs as well as daily affairs, are subjected. + + + + +ON DIDACTIC POETRY + +(1827) + + +Didactic poetry is not a distinct poetic style or genre in the same +sense as the lyric, epic, and dramatic. Every one will understand this +who recognizes that the latter differ in form, and therefore didactic +poetry, which derives its name from its content, cannot be put in the +same category. + +All poetry should be instructive, but unobviously so. It should draw +the attention of a reader to the idea which is of value to be imparted; +but he himself must draw the lesson out of it, as he does out of life. + +Didactic or schoolmasterly poetry is a hybrid between poetry and +rhetoric. For that reason, as it approximates now one and now the +other, it is able to possess more or less of poetic value. But, +like descriptive and satirical poetry, it is always a secondary and +subordinate species, which in a true æsthetic is always placed between +the art of poetry and the art of speech. The intrinsic worth of +didactic poetry, that is to say, of an edifying art-work, written with +charm and vigor, and graced with rhythm and melody and the ornament +of imaginative power, is for that reason in no way lessened. From the +rhymed chronicles, from the verse-maxims of the old pedagogues, down to +the best of this class, all have their value, considered in their place +and taken at their proper worth. + +If one examines the matter closely and without prejudice, it strikes +one that didactic poetry is valuable for the sake of its popular +appeal. Even the most talented poet should feel himself honored to +have treated in this style a chapter of useful knowledge. The English +have some highly praiseworthy examples of this style. With jest and +seriousness they curry favor with the crowd, and then discuss in +explanatory notes whatever the reader must know in order to understand +the poem. The teacher in the field of æsthetics, ethics, or history has +a fine chance to systematize and clarify this chapter and acquaint his +students with the merit of the best works of this kind, not according +to the utility of their contents, but with reference to the greater or +less degree of their poetical value. + +This subject should properly be quite omitted from a course on +æsthetics, but for the sake of those who have studied poetry and +rhetoric, it might be presented in special lectures, perhaps public. +Here a true comprehension, as everywhere, will prove of great advantage +to practice; for many people will grasp the difficulty of weaving +together a piece out of knowledge and imagination, of binding two +opposed elements together into a living bodily whole. The lecturer +should reveal the means by which this reconciliation can be made, and +his auditors, thereby guarded against mistakes, might each attempt in +his own way to produce a similar effect. + +Among the many ways and means of effecting such a fusion, good humor is +the most certain, and could also be considered the most suitable, were +pure humor not so rare. + +No more singular undertaking could easily be thought of than to +turn the geology of a district into a didactic, and indeed highly +imaginative, poem; yet this is what a member of the Geological Society +of London has done, in an attempt to popularize in this way a subject, +and promote a study usually insufferable to the thought of travelers. + + + + +SUPERSTITION AND POETRY + +(1823) + + +Superstition is the poetry of life; both build an imaginary world, and +between the things of the actual, palpable world they anticipate the +most marvelous connections. Sympathy and antipathy govern everywhere. + +Poetry is ever freeing itself from such fetters as it arbitrarily +imposes upon itself; superstition, on the contrary, can be compared +to the magic cords which draw together ever the tighter, the more +one struggles against them. The time of greatest enlightenment is +not secure from it; let it strike an uncultured century or epoch, +and the clouded mind of poor humanity begins to strive after the +impossible, to endeavor to have intercourse with and influence the +supernatural, the far-distant, the future. A numerous world of marvels +it constructs for itself, surrounded with a circle of darkness and +gloom. Such clouds hang over whole centuries, and grow thicker and +thicker. The imagination broods over a waste of sensuality; reason +seems to have turned back like Astræa to its divine origin; wisdom +is in despair, since she has no means of successfully asserting her +rights. Superstition does not harm the poet, for he knows how to make +its half-truths, to which he gives only a literary validity, count in +manifold ways for good. + + + + +THE METHODS OF FRENCH CRITICISM + + +I (1817) + +A wealth of terms for unfavorable criticism:-- + + A. abandonnée, absurde, arrogance, astuce. + + B. bafoué, bête, bêtise, bouffissure, bouquin, bourgeois, + boursouflure, boutade, brisé, brutalité. + + C. cabale, cagot, canaille, carcan, clique, contraire, créature. + + D. déclamatoire, décrié, dégoût, dénigrement, dépourvu, déprayé, + désobligeant, détestable, diabolique, dur. + + E. échoppe, enflure, engouement, ennui, ennuyeux, énorme, entortillé, + éphémères, épluché, espèce, étourneau. + + F. factice, fadaise, faible, fainéant, fané, fastidieux, fatigant, + fatuité, faux, forcé, fou, fourré, friperie, frivole, furieux. + + G. gâte, gauchement, gaucher, grimace, grossier, grossièrement. + + H. haillons, honnêtement, honte, horreur. + + I. imbécile, impertinence, impertinent, impuissant, incorrection, + indécis, indéterminé, indifférence, indignités, inégalité, + inguérissable, insipide, insipidité, insoutenable, intolérant, + jouets, irréfléchi. + + L. laquais, léger, lésine, louche, lourd. + + M. maladresse, manque, maroud, mauvais, médiocre, mépris, méprise, + mignardise, mordant. + + N. négligé, négligence, noirceur, non-soin. + + O. odieux. + + P. passable, pauvreté, pénible, petites-maisons, peupropre, + pie-grièche, pitoyable, plat, platitude, pompeux, précieux, + puérilités. + + R. rapsodie, ratatiné, rebattu, réchauffé, redondance, rétréci, + révoltant, ridicule, roquet. + + S. sans succès, sifflets, singerie, somnifère, soporifique, sottise, + subalterne. + + T. terrassé, tombée, traînée, travers, triste. + + V. vague, vexé, vide, vieillerie, volumineux. + +A scanty store for praise:-- + + A. animé, applaudie. + + B. brillant. + + C. charmant, correct. + + E. esprit. + + F. facile, finesse. + + G. goût, grâce, gracieux, grave. + + I. invention, justesse. + + L. léger, légèreté, libre. + + N. nombreux. + + P. piquant, prodigieux, pur. + + R. raisonnable. + + S. spirituel. + + V. verve. + +“Words are the image of the soul; yet not an image, but rather a +shadow! Expressing roughly, and signifying gently, all that we have, +all that we have had in our experience! What was,--where has it gone? +and what is that which is with us now? Ah! we speak! Swiftly we catch +and seize the gifts of life as they fleet by us.” + + * * * * * + +The insight and character of a man express themselves most clearly in +his judgments. In what he rejects, and what he accepts, he confesses +to what is alien to him and what he has need of; and so each year +designates unconsciously its present spiritual state, the compass of +its past life. + +Thus is it also with nations; their praise and censure must always be +strictly consonant to their situation. We possessed Greek and Roman +terminology of this sort; the foregoing would give an occasion for +examining recent criticism. Like the individual man, the nation rests +on traditional ideas, foreign more often than native, both inherited +and original. But only in so far as a people has a native literature +can it judge and understand the past as it does the present. The +Englishman clings earnestly and stubbornly to classic antiquity, and +will not be convinced that the Orient has produced poets, unless he can +be shown parallel passages from Horace. What advantages, on the other +hand, Shakespeare’s independent genius has brought to the nation can +hardly be expressed. + +The French by the introduction of badly understood classical principles +and an over-nice sense of form so constrained their poetry that it must +finally quite disappear, since it could not become more similar to +prose. The German was on the right road and will find it again, as soon +as he gives up the unhappy attempt to rank the _Nibelungen_ with the +_Iliad_. + + * * * * * + +The favorable opinion which an excellent foreign writer has concerning +us Germans may be appropriately related here. The Privy Councilor +of the Russian Empire, Count Uvaroff, speaks thus in our honor, in a +preface addressed to an old friend and partner, and contained in his +valuable work on _Nonnus of Panopolis, the Poet_ (St. Petersburg, +1817): “The renaissance of archæology belongs to the Germans. Other +peoples may have contributed preparatory work, but if the more advanced +philological studies are ever developed to a complete whole, such a +palingenesis or regeneration could only take place in Germany. For +this reason, certain new views can hardly be expressed in any other +language, and on that account I have written in German. I hope we have +now given up the perverse notion of the political preëminence of this +or that language. It is time that every one, unconcerned about the +instrument itself, should select the language which fits most closely +the circle of ideas in which his thought is moving.” + +Here speaks an able, talented, intellectual man, whose mind is above +the petty limitations of a cold literary patriotism, and who, like +a master of musical art, draws the stops of his well-equipped organ +which express the thought and feeling of each moment. Would that all +cultivated Germans would take thankfully to heart these excellent +and instructive words of his, and that intellectual youths would +be inspired to make themselves proficient in several languages, as +optional instruments of life! + + +II (1820) + +In my article on “Urteilsworte französischer Kritiker,” a large number +of unfavorable epithets used by French critics were set off against a +scanty number of favorable words. In connection with this, the _Vrai +Liberal_ of February 4, 1819, lodges a complaint against me and accuses +me of an injustice towards the French nation. It does this with so much +civility and charm as to make me ashamed of myself, were it not for the +fact that behind my presentation of those words there lay a secret, +which I hasten to reveal to it and to my readers at this time. + +I admit without hesitation that the Brussels correspondent of the _Vrai +Liberal_ is quite right when he points out how among the words of +censure which I gave there appear many peculiar ones which one would +not exactly expect; and in addition, that in the list of favorable +words, several are lacking which ought to occur to every one. In order +to explain this, and make the story clearer, I shall relate how I was +induced to make this particular list. + +When Herr von Grimm forty years ago achieved an honorable entrance +into Parisian society, at that time extraordinarily talented and +intellectual, and was recognized practically as a member of this +distinguished company, he decided to send a written bulletin of +literary and other interesting matters to princely personages +and wealthy people in Germany, in order to entertain them, for a +considerable remuneration, with the characteristic life of Paris +circles, in regard to which they were curious in the outside world, +because they could well consider Paris as the centre of the cultured +world. These letters were to contain not merely news; but the best +works of Diderot, _The Nun_, _Jacques the Fatalist_, etc., were by +degrees inserted in such small portions that curiosity, attention, and +eagerness were kept alive from number to number. + +Through the favor of distinguished patrons I was permitted to peruse +these bulletins regularly, and I did not neglect to study them with +great deliberation and ardor. Now, if I may be permitted to say it +to my credit, I always cheerfully recognized the superiority of +the writers and their works, treasured and admired them, and also +thankfully profited by them. For this reason I was soon struck in this +correspondence of Grimm’s with the fact that in the stories, anecdotes, +delineation of character, description, criticism, one noticed more of +censure than of praise, more derogatory than laudatory terminology. One +day in good humor, for my own consideration and edification, I began to +take down the complete expressions, and later, half in jest and half +in earnest, to split them up and arrange them alphabetically; and thus +they remained on my desk for many years. + +When finally the correspondence of Grimm was published, I read it as +the document of a past age, but with care, and soon came upon many +an expression which I had noticed before; and I was convinced anew +that the censure by far exceeded the praise. Then I hunted up the +earlier work of mine and had it printed, for the sake of intellectual +edification, which did not fail me. At the moment I was not able to +give further attention to the matter; and it is therefore not unlikely +that in so voluminous a work many a word of praise and blame that has +escaped me may be found. + +But in order that this reproach, which appeared to concern a whole +nation, may not be left clinging to a single author, I shall reserve +the privilege of discussing this important literary topic on more +general lines in the near future. + + + + +ON CRITICISM + +(1821-24) + + +I + +Criticism is either destructive or constructive. The former is very +easy; for one need only set up some imaginary standard, some model or +other, however foolish this may be, and then boldly assert that the +work of art under consideration does not measure up to that standard, +and therefore is of no value. That settles the matter, and one can +without any more ado declare that the poet has not come up to one’s +requirements. In this way the critic frees himself of all obligations +of gratitude toward the artist. + +Constructive criticism is much harder. It asks: What did the author +set out to do? Was his plan reasonable and sensible, and how far did +he succeed in carrying it out? If these questions are answered with +discernment and sympathy, we may be of real assistance to the author +in his later works, for even in his first attempts he has undoubtedly +taken certain preliminary steps which approach the level of our +criticism. + +Perhaps we should call attention to another point which is altogether +too frequently overlooked, namely, that the critic must judge a work +of art more for the sake of the author than of the public. Every day +we see how, without the least regard for the opinions of reviewers, +some drama or novel is received by men and women in the most divers +individual ways, is praised, found fault with, given or refused a +place in the heart, merely as it happens to appeal to the personal +idiosyncrasy of each reader. + + +II + +Criticism is a practice of the Moderns. What does this mean? Just this: +If you read a book and let it work upon you, and yield yourself up +entirely to its influence, then, and only then, will you arrive at a +correct judgment of it. + + +III + +Some of my admiring readers have told me for a long time that instead +of expressing a judgment on books, I describe the influence which they +have had on me. And at bottom this is the way all readers criticize, +even if they do not communicate an opinion or formulate ideas about it +to the public. The scholar finds nothing new in a book, and therefore +cannot praise it, while the young student, eager for knowledge, finds +that knowledge increased, and a stimulus given to his culture. The +one is stirred, while the other remains cold. This explains why the +reception of books is so varied. + + +IV + +I am more and more convinced that whenever one has to express an +opinion on the actions or on the writings of others, unless this be +done from a certain one-sided enthusiasm, or from a loving interest +in the person and the work, the result is hardly worth considering. +Sympathy and enjoyment in what we see are in fact the only reality; and +from such reality, reality as a natural product follows. All else is +vanity. + + + + +ON SHAKESPEARE + + + + +WILHELM MEISTER’S CRITIQUE OF _HAMLET_ + +(1795) + + +Wilhelm had scarcely read one or two of Shakespeare’s plays, till their +effect on him became so strong that he could go no farther. His whole +soul was in commotion. He sought an opportunity to speak with Jarno; +to whom, on meeting with him, he expressed his boundless gratitude for +such delicious entertainment. + +“I clearly enough foresaw,” said Jarno, “that you would not remain +insensible to the charms of the most extraordinary and most admirable +of all writers.” + +“Yes,” exclaimed our friend, “I cannot recollect that any book, +any man, any incident of my life, has produced such important +effects on me, as the precious works to which by your kindness I +have been directed. They seem as if they were performances of some +celestial genius, descending among men, to make them, by the mildest +instructions, acquainted with themselves. They are no fictions! You +would think, while reading them, you stood before the unclosed awful +Books of Fate, while the whirlwind of most impassioned life was howling +through the leaves, and tossing them fiercely to and fro. The strength +and tenderness, the power and peacefulness, of this man, have so +astonished and transported me, that I long vehemently for the time when +I shall have it in my power to read farther.” + +“Bravo!” said Jarno, holding out his hand, and squeezing our friend’s. +“This is as it should be! And the consequences, which I hope for, will +likewise surely follow.” + +“I wish,” said Wilhelm, “I could but disclose to you all that is going +on within me even now. All the anticipations I ever had regarding man +and his destiny, which have accompanied me from youth upwards, often +unobserved by myself, I find developed and fulfilled in Shakespeare’s +writings. It seems as if he cleared up every one of our enigmas to +us, though we cannot say, Here or there is the word of solution. His +men appear like natural men, and yet they are not. These, the most +mysterious and complex productions of creation, here act before us as +if they were watches, whose dial plates and cases were of crystal, +which pointed out, according to their use, the course of the hours and +minutes; while, at the same time, you could discern the combination of +wheels and springs that turned them. The few glances I have cast over +Shakespeare’s world incite me, more than anything beside, to quicken +my footsteps forward into the actual world, to mingle in the flood +of destinies that is suspended over it, and at length, if I shall +prosper, to draw a few cups from the great ocean of true nature, and +to distribute them from off the stage among the thirsting people of my +native land.”... + + * * * * * + +Seeing the company so favorably disposed, Wilhelm now hoped he might +further have it in his power to converse with them on the poetic merit +of the plays which might come before them. “It is not enough,” said he +next day, when they were all again assembled, “for the actor merely to +glance over a dramatic work, to judge of it by his first impression, +and thus, without investigation, to declare his satisfaction or +dissatisfaction with it. Such things may be allowed in a spectator, +whose purpose it is rather to be entertained and moved than formally to +criticize. But the actor, on the other hand, should be prepared to give +a reason for his praise or censure; and how shall he do this, if he +have not taught himself to penetrate the sense, the views, the feelings +of his author? A common error is to form a judgment of a drama from a +single part in it, and to look upon this part itself in an isolated +point of view, not in its connection with the whole. I have noticed +this within a few days so clearly in my own conduct that I will give +you the account as an example, if you please to hear me patiently. + +“You all know Shakespeare’s incomparable _Hamlet_; our public reading +of it at the castle yielded every one of us the greatest satisfaction. +On that occasion we proposed to act the play; and I, not knowing what +I undertook, engaged to play the prince’s part. This I conceived that +I was studying, while I began to get by heart the strongest passages, +the soliloquies, and those scenes in which force of soul, vehemence and +elevation of feeling have the freest scope, where the agitated heart is +allowed to display itself with touching expressiveness. + +“I further conceived that I was penetrating quite into the spirit of +the character, while I endeavored, as it were, to take upon myself +the load of deep melancholy under which my prototype was laboring, +and in this humor to pursue him through the strange labyrinths of +his caprices and his singularities. Thus learning, thus practising, I +doubted not but I should by and bye become one person with my hero. + +“But the farther I advanced, the more difficult did it become for me +to form any image of the whole, in its general bearings; till at last +it seemed as if impossible. I next went through the entire piece, +without interruption; but here, too, I found much that I could not +away with. At one time the characters, at another time the manner of +displaying them, seemed inconsistent; and I almost despaired of finding +any general tint, in which I might present my whole part with all its +shadings and variations. In such devious paths I toiled, and wandered +long in vain; till at length a hope arose that I might reach my aim in +quite a new way. + +“I set about investigating every trace of Hamlet’s character, as it had +shown itself before his father’s death; I endeavored to distinguish +what in it was independent of this mournful event, independent of the +terrible events that followed; and what most probably the young man +would have been had no such thing occurred. + +“Soft, and from a noble stem, this royal flower had sprung up under the +immediate influences of majesty: the idea of moral rectitude with that +of princely elevation, the feeling of the good and dignified with the +consciousness of high birth, had in him been unfolded simultaneously. +He was a prince, by birth a prince; and he wished to reign, only that +good men might be good without obstruction. Pleasing in form, polished +by nature, courteous from the heart, he was meant to be the pattern of +youth and the joy of the world. + +“Without any prominent passion, his love for Ophelia was a still +presentiment of sweet wants. His zeal in knightly accomplishments was +not entirely his own: it needed to be quickened and inflamed by praise +bestowed on others for excelling in them. Pure in sentiment, he knew +the honorable-minded, and could prize the rest which an upright spirit +tastes on the bosom of a friend. To a certain degree he had learned +to discern and value the good and the beautiful in arts and sciences; +the mean, the vulgar, was offensive to him; and, if hatred could take +root in his tender soul, it was only so far as to make him properly +despise the false and changeful insects of a court, and play with them +in easy scorn. He was calm in his temper, artless in his conduct, +neither pleased with idleness, nor too violently eager for employment. +The routine of a university he seemed to continue when at court. He +possessed more mirth of humor than of heart: he was a good companion, +pliant, courteous, discreet, and able to forget and forgive an injury, +yet never able to unite himself with those who overstepped the limits +of the right, the good, and the becoming. + +“When we read the piece again, you shall judge whether I am yet on the +proper track. I hope at least to bring forward passages that shall +support my opinion in its main points.” + +This delineation was received with warm approval; the company imagined +they foresaw that Hamlet’s manner of proceeding might now be very +satisfactorily explained; they applauded this method of penetrating +into the spirit of a writer. Each of them proposed to himself to take +up some piece, and study it on these principles, and so unfold the +author’s meaning.... + +Loving Shakespeare as our friend did, he failed not to lead round +the conversation to the merits of that dramatist. Expressing, as he +entertained, the liveliest hopes of the new epoch which these exquisite +productions must form in Germany, he erelong introduced his _Hamlet_, +which play had busied him so much of late. + +Serlo declared that he would long ago have represented the play had it +at all been possible, and that he himself would willingly engage to act +Polonius. He added, with a smile, “An Ophelia, too, will certainly turn +up, if we had but a Prince.” + +Wilhelm did not notice that Aurelia seemed a little hurt at her +brother’s sarcasm. Our friend was in his proper vein, becoming copious +and didactic, expounding how he would have _Hamlet_ played. He +circumstantially delivered to his hearers the opinions we before saw +him busied with; taking all the trouble possible to make his notion of +the matter acceptable, skeptical as Serlo showed himself regarding it. +“Well, then,” said the latter finally, “suppose we grant you all this, +what will you explain by it?” + +“Much, everything,” said Wilhelm. “Conceive a prince such as I have +painted him, and that his father suddenly dies. Ambition and the love +of rule are not the passions that inspire him. As a king’s son, he +would have been contented; but now he is first constrained to consider +the difference which separates a sovereign from a subject. The crown +was not hereditary; yet his father’s longer possession of it would have +strengthened the pretensions of an only son, and secured his hopes of +succession. In place of this, he now beholds himself excluded by his +uncle, in spite of specious promises, most probably forever. He is now +poor in goods and favor, and a stranger in the scene which from youth +he had looked upon as his inheritance. His temper here assumes its +first mournful tinge. He feels that now he is not more, that he is less +than a private nobleman; he offers himself as the servant of every one; +he is not courteous and condescending, he is needy and degraded. + +“His past condition he remembers as a vanished dream. It is in vain +that his uncle strives to cheer him, to present his situation in +another point of view. The feeling of his nothingness will not leave +him. + +“The second stroke that came upon him wounded deeper, bowed still more. +It was the marriage of his mother. The faithful, tender son had yet a +mother, when his father passed away. He hoped in the company of his +surviving noble-minded parent, to reverence the heroic form of the +departed: but his mother, too, he loses; and it is something worse +than death that robs him of her. The trustful image, which a good +child loves to form of its parents, is gone. With the dead there is no +help, on the living no hold. Moreover, she is a woman; and her name is +Frailty, like that of all her sex. + +“Now only does he feel completely bowed down, now only orphaned; and +no happiness of life can repay what he has lost. Not reflective or +sorrowful by nature, reflection and sorrow have become for him a heavy +obligation. It is thus that we see him first enter on the scene. I do +not think that I have mixed aught foreign with the play, or overcharged +a single feature of it.” + +Serlo looked at his sister, and said: “Did I give thee a false picture +of our friend? He begins well: he has still many things to tell us, +many to persuade us of.” Wilhelm asseverated loudly that he meant not +to persuade, but to convince; he begged for another moment’s patience. + +“Figure to yourselves this youth,” cried he, “this son of princes; +conceive him vividly, bring his state before your eyes and then observe +him when he learns that his father’s spirit walks; stand by him in the +terrors of the night, when even the venerable ghost appears before him. +He is seized with boundless horror; he speaks to the mysterious form; +he sees it beckon him; he follows and hears. The fearful accusation of +his uncle rings in his ears, the summons to revenge, and the piercing, +oft-repeated prayer, Remember me! + +“And, when the ghost has vanished, who is it that stands before us? A +young hero panting for vengeance? A prince by birth, rejoicing to be +called to punish the usurper of his crown? No! trouble and astonishment +take hold of the solitary young man: he grows bitter against smiling +villains, swears that he will not forget the spirit, and concludes with +the significant ejaculation,-- + + “‘The time is out of joint: O cursed spite, + That ever I was born to set it right!’ + +“In these words, I imagine, will be found the key to Hamlet’s whole +procedure. To me it is clear that Shakespeare meant, in the present +case, to represent the effects of a great action laid upon a soul unfit +for the performance of it. In this view the whole play seems to me to +be composed. There is an oak-tree planted in a costly jar, which should +have borne only pleasant flowers in its bosom: the roots expand, the +jar is shivered. + +“A lovely, pure, noble, and most moral nature, without the strength +of nerve which forms a hero, sinks beneath a burden it cannot bear +and must not cast away. All duties are holy for him: the present +is too hard. Impossibilities have been required of him,--not in +themselves impossibilities, but such for him. He winds and turns, and +torments himself; he advances and recoils; is ever put in mind, ever +puts himself in mind, at last does all but lose his purpose from his +thoughts, yet still without recovering his peace of mind.” + +Several people entering interrupted the discussion. They were musical +dilettanti, who commonly assembled at Serlo’s once a week, and formed +a little concert. Serlo himself loved music much: he used to maintain +that a player without taste for it never could attain a distinct +conception and feeling of the scenic art. “As a man performs,” he +would observe, “with far more ease and dignity when his gestures +are accompanied and guided by a tune; so the player ought, in idea +as it were, to set to music even his prose parts, that he may not +monotonously slight them over in his individual style, but treat them +in suitable alternation by time and measure.” + +Aurelia seemed to give but little heed to what was passing: at last she +conducted Wilhelm to another room; and going to the window, and looking +out at the starry sky, she said to him, “You have more to tell us about +Hamlet: I will not hurry you,--my brother must hear it as well as I; +but let me beg to know your thoughts about Ophelia.” + +“Of her there cannot much be said,” he answered; “for a few +master-strokes complete her character. The whole being of Ophelia +floats in sweet and ripe sensation. Kindness for the prince, to whose +hand she may aspire, flows so spontaneously, her tender heart obeys its +impulses so unresistingly, that both father and brother are afraid: +both give her warning harshly and directly. Decorum, like the thin lawn +upon her bosom, cannot hide the soft, still movements of her heart: it, +on the contrary, betrays them. Her fancy is smit; her silent modesty +breathes amiable desire; and if the friendly goddess Opportunity should +shake the tree, its fruit would fall.” + +“And then,” said Aurelia, “when she beholds herself forsaken, cast +away, despised; when all is inverted in the soul of her crazed lover, +and the highest changes to the lowest, and, instead of the sweet cup of +love, he offers her the bitter’ cup of woe--” + +“Her heart breaks,” cried Wilhelm; “the whole structure of her being is +loosened from its joinings: her father’s death strikes fiercely against +it, and the fair edifice altogether crumbles into fragments.” + +Serlo, this moment entering, inquired about his sister, and, looking +in the book which our friend had hold of, cried, “So you are again at +_Hamlet_? Very good! Many doubts have arisen in me, which seem not a +little to impair the canonical aspect of the play as you would have it +viewed. The English themselves have admitted that its chief interest +concludes with the third act; the last two lagging sorrily on, and +scarcely uniting with the rest: and certainly about the end it seems to +stand stock-still.” + +“It is very possible,” said Wilhelm, “that some individuals of a +nation, which has so many masterpieces to feel proud of, may be led +by prejudice and narrowness of mind to form false judgments; but this +cannot hinder us from looking with our own eyes, and doing justice +where we see it due. I am very far from censuring the plan of _Hamlet_: +on the other hand, I believe there never was a grander one invented; +nay, it is not invented, it is real.” + +“How do you demonstrate that?” inquired Serlo. + +“I will not demonstrate anything,” said Wilhelm; “I will merely show +you what my own conceptions of it are.” + +Aurelia raised herself from her cushion, leaned upon her hand, and +looked at Wilhelm, who, with the firmest assurance that he was in the +right, went on as follows: “It pleases us, it flatters us, to see a +hero acting on his own strength, loving and hating at the bidding of +his heart, undertaking and completing casting every obstacle aside, +and attaining some great end. Poets and historians would willingly +persuade us that so proud a lot may fall to man. In _Hamlet_ we are +taught another lesson; the hero is without a plan, but the play is +full of plan. Here we have no villain punished on some self-conceived +and rigidly accomplished scheme of vengeance. A horrid deed is done; +it rolls along with all its consequences, dragging with it even the +guiltless: the guilty perpetrator would, as it seems, evade the abyss +made ready for him; yet he plunges in, at the very point by which he +thinks he shall escape and happily complete his course. + +“For it is the property of crime to extend its mischief over innocence, +as it is of virtue to extend its blessings over many that deserve +them not; while frequently the author of the one or the other is not +punished or rewarded at all. Here in this play of ours, how strange! +The Pit of darkness sends its spirit and demands revenge: in vain! +All circumstances tend one way, and hurry to revenge: in vain! Neither +earthly nor infernal thing may bring about what is reserved for Fate +alone. The hour of judgment comes; the wicked falls with the good; one +race is mowed away, that another may spring up.” + +After a pause, in which they looked at one another, Serlo said, “You +pay no great compliment to Providence, in thus exalting Shakespeare; +and besides, it appears to me, that for the honor of your poet, as +others for the honor of Providence, you ascribe to him an object and a +plan such as he himself has never thought of.” + +“Let me also put a question,” said Aurelia. “I have looked at Ophelia’s +part again: I am contented with it, and confident that, under certain +circumstances, I could play it. But tell me, should not the poet have +furnished the insane maiden with another sort of songs? Could not some +fragments out of melancholy ballads be selected for this purpose? Why +put double meanings and lascivious insipidities in the mouth of this +noble-minded girl?” + +“Dear friend,” said Wilhelm, “even here I cannot yield you one iota. +In these singularities, in this apparent impropriety, a deep sense is +hid. Do we not understand from the very first what the mind of the +good, soft-hearted girl was busied with? Silently she lived within +herself, yet she scarce concealed her wishes, her longing: and how +often may she have attempted, like an unskilful nurse, to lull her +senses to repose with songs which only kept them more awake? But at +last, when her self-command is altogether gone, when the secrets of her +heart are hovering on her tongue, that tongue betrays her; and in the +innocence of insanity she solaces herself, unmindful of king or queen, +with the echo of her loose and well-beloved songs,--‘Tomorrow is Saint +Valentine’s Day,’ and ‘By Gis and by Saint Charity.’ ...” + + * * * * * + +“I must admit your picture of Ophelia to be just,” continued she; “I +cannot now misunderstand the object of the poet: I must pity; though, +as you paint her, I shall rather pity her than sympathize with her. +But allow me here to offer a remark, which in these few days you have +frequently suggested to me. I observe with admiration the correct, +keen, penetrating glance with which you judge of poetry, especially +dramatic poetry: the deepest abysses of invention are not hidden from +you, the finest touches of representation cannot escape you. Without +ever having viewed the objects in nature, you recognize the truth +of their images: there seems, as it were, a presentiment of all the +universe to lie in you, which by the harmonious touch of poetry is +awakened and unfolded. For in truth,” continued she, “from without, +you receive not much: I have scarcely seen a person that so little +knew, so totally misknew, the people he lived with, as you do. Allow +me to say it: in hearing you expound the mysteries of Shakespeare, +one would think you had just descended from a synod of the gods, and +had listened there while they were taking counsel how to form men; in +seeing you transact with your fellows, I could imagine you to be the +first large-born child of the Creation, standing agape, and gazing with +strange wonderment and edifying good nature at lions and apes and sheep +and elephants, and true-heartedly addressing them as your equals, +simply because they were there, and in motion like yourself.” + +“The feeling of my ignorance in this respect,” said Wilhelm, “often +gives me pain; and I should thank you, worthy friend, if you would +help me to get a little better insight into life. From youth, I have +been accustomed to direct the eyes of my spirit inwards rather than +outwards; and hence it is very natural that, to a certain extent, I +should be acquainted with man, while of men I have not the smallest +knowledge....” + + * * * * * + +One of the conditions under which our friend had gone upon the stage +was not acceded to by Serlo without some limitations. Wilhelm had +required that _Hamlet_ should be played entire and unmutilated: the +other had agreed to this strange stipulation, in so far as it was +_possible_. On this point they had many a contest; for as to what was +possible or not possible, and what parts of the piece could be omitted +without mutilating it, the two were of very different opinions. + +Wilhelm was still in that happy season when one cannot understand +how, in the woman one loves, in the writer one honors, there should +be anything defective. The feeling they excite in us is so entire, +so accordant with itself, that we cannot help attributing the same +perfect harmony to the objects themselves. Serlo again was willing +to discriminate, perhaps too willing: his acute understanding could +usually discern in any work of art nothing but a more or less +_im_perfect whole. He thought that, as pieces usually stood, there was +little reason to be chary about meddling with them; that of course +Shakespeare, and particularly _Hamlet_, would need to suffer much +curtailment. + +But, when Serlo talked of separating the wheat from the chaff, Wilhelm +would not hear of it. “It is not chaff and wheat together,” said +he: “it is a trunk with boughs, twigs, leaves, buds, blossoms, and +fruit. Is not the one there with the others, and by means of them?” To +which Serlo would reply that people did not bring a whole tree upon +the table; that the artist was required to present his guests with +silver apples in platters of silver. They exhausted their invention in +similitudes, and their opinions seemed still farther to diverge. + +Our friend was on the borders of despair when on one occasion, after +much debating, Serlo counseled him to take the simple plan,--to make a +brief resolution, to grasp his pen, to peruse the tragedy; dashing out +whatever would not answer, compressing several personages into one: and +if he was not skilled in such proceedings, or had not heart enough for +going through with them, he might leave the task to him, the manager, +who would engage to make short work with it. + +“That is not our bargain,” answered Wilhelm. “How can you, with all +your taste, show so much levity?” + +“My friend,” cried Serlo, “you yourself will erelong feel it and +show it. I know too well how shocking such a mode of treating works +is: perhaps it never was allowed on any theatre till now. But where, +indeed, was ever one so slighted as ours? Authors force us on this +wretched clipping system, and the public tolerates it. How many pieces +have we, pray, which do not overstep the measure of our numbers, of our +decorations and theatrical machinery, of the proper time, of the fit +alternation of dialogue, and the physical strength of the actor? And +yet we are to play, and play, and constantly give novelties. Ought +we not to profit by our privilege, then, since we accomplish just as +much by mutilated works as by entire ones? It is the public itself +that grants the privilege. Few Germans, perhaps few men of any modern +nation, have a proper sense of an æsthetic whole:--they praise and +blame by passages; they are charmed by passages; and who has greater +reason to rejoice at this than actors, since the stage is ever but a +patched and piece-work matter?” + +“Is!” cried Wilhelm; “but _must_ it ever be so? Must everything that +is continue? Convince me not that you are right, for no power on earth +should force me to abide by any contract which I had concluded with the +grossest misconceptions.” + +Serlo gave a merry turn to the business, and persuaded him to review +once more the many conversations they had had together about _Hamlet_, +and himself to invent some means of properly reforming the piece. + +After a few days, which he had spent alone, our friend returned with +a cheerful look. “I am much mistaken,” cried he, “if I have not now +discovered how the whole is to be managed: nay, I am convinced that +Shakespeare himself would have arranged it so, had not his mind been +too exclusively directed to the ruling interest, and perhaps misled by +the novels which furnished him with his materials.” + +“Let us hear,” said Serlo, placing himself with an air of solemnity +upon the sofa: “I will listen calmly, but judge with rigor.” + +“I am not afraid of you,” said Wilhelm; “only hear me. In the +composition of this play, after the most accurate investigation and +the most mature reflection, I distinguish two classes of objects. The +first are the grand internal relations of the persons and events, the +powerful effects which arise from the characters and proceedings of the +main figures: these, I hold, are individually excellent; and the order +in which they are presented cannot be improved. No kind of interference +must be suffered to destroy them, or even essentially to change their +form. These are the things which stamp themselves deep into the +soul, which all men long to see, which no one dares to meddle with. +Accordingly, I understand, they have almost wholly been retained in +all our German theatres. But our countrymen have erred, in my opinion, +with regard to the second class of objects, which may be observed +in this tragedy: I allude to the external relations of the persons, +whereby they are brought from place to place, or combined in various +ways, by certain accidental incidents. These they have looked upon as +very unimportant; have spoken of them only in passing, or left them out +altogether. Now, indeed, it must be owned, these threads are slack and +slender; yet they run through the entire piece, and bind together much +that would otherwise fall asunder, and does actually fall asunder, when +you cut them off, and imagine you have done enough and more, if you +have left the ends hanging. + +“Among these external relations I include the disturbances in Norway, +the war with young Fortinbras, the embassy to his uncle, the settling +of that feud, the march of young Fortinbras to Poland, and his coming +back at the end; of the same sort are Horatio’s return from Wittenberg, +Hamlet’s wish to go thither, the journey of Laertes to France, his +return, the despatch of Hamlet into England, his capture by pirates, +the death of the two courtiers by the letter which they carried. All +these circumstances and events would be very fit for expanding and +lengthening a novel; but here they injure exceedingly the unity of the +piece, particularly as the hero has no plan, and are, in consequence, +entirely out of place.” + +“For once in the right!” cried Serlo. + +“Do not interrupt me,” answered Wilhelm; “perhaps you will not always +think me right. These errors are like temporary props of an edifice: +they must not be removed till we have built a firm wall in their stead. +My project, therefore, is not at all to change those first-mentioned +grand situations, or at least as much as possible to spare them, both +collectively and individually; but with respect to these external, +single, dissipated, and dissipating motives, to cast them all at once +away, and substitute a solitary one instead of them.” + +“And this?” inquired Serlo, springing up from his recumbent posture. + +“It lies in the piece itself,” answered Wilhelm, “only I employ it +rightly. There are disturbances in Norway. You shall hear my plan, and +try it. + +“After the death of Hamlet’s father, the Norwegians, lately conquered, +grow unruly. The viceroy of that country sends his son, Horatio, an old +school-friend of Hamlet’s, and distinguished above every other for his +bravery and prudence, to Denmark, to press forward the equipment of +the fleet, which, under the new luxurious king, proceeds but slowly. +Horatio has known the former king, having fought in his battles, having +even stood in favor with him,--a circumstance by which the first +ghost-scene will be nothing injured. The new sovereign gives Horatio +audience and sends Laertes into Norway with intelligence that the fleet +will soon arrive; whilst Horatio is commissioned to accelerate the +preparation of it: and the Queen, on the other hand, will not consent +that Hamlet, as he wishes, should go to sea along with him.” + +“Heaven be praised!” cried Serlo; “we shall now get rid of Wittenberg +and the university, which was always a sorry piece of business. I think +your idea extremely good; for, except these two distant objects, Norway +and the fleet, the spectator will not be required to _fancy_ anything: +the rest he will _see_; the rest takes place before him; whereas his +imagination, on the other plan, was hunted over all the world.” + +“You easily perceive,” said Wilhelm, “how I shall contrive to keep the +other parts together. When Hamlet tells Horatio of his uncle’s crime, +Horatio counsels him to go to Norway in his company, to secure the +affections of the army, and return in warlike force. Hamlet also is +becoming dangerous to the King and Queen; they find no readier method +of deliverance than to send him in the fleet, with Rosencrantz and +Guildenstern to be spies upon him; and, as Laertes in the meantime +comes from France, they determine that this youth, exasperated even +to murder, shall go after him. Unfavorable winds detain the fleet: +Hamlet returns; for his wandering through the churchyard, perhaps some +lucky motive may be thought of; his meeting with Laertes in Ophelia’s +grave is a grand moment, which we must not part with. After this, the +King resolves that it is better to get quit of Hamlet on the spot: the +festival of his departure, the pretended reconcilement with Laertes, +are now solemnized; on which occasion knightly sports are held, and +Laertes fights with Hamlet. Without the four corpses, I cannot end the +play: no one must survive. The right of popular election now again +comes in force; and Hamlet, while dying, gives his vote to Horatio.” + +“Quick! quick!” said Serlo, “sit down and work the play: your plan has +my entire approbation; only let not your zeal evaporate.” + + * * * * * + +Wilhelm had already been for some time busied with translating +_Hamlet_; making use, as he labored, of Wieland’s spirited performance, +through which he had first become acquainted with Shakespeare. What +had been omitted in Wieland’s work he replaced, and had secured a +complete version, at the very time when Serlo and he were pretty well +agreed about the way of treating it. He now began, according to his +plan, to cut out and insert, to separate and unite, to alter, and +often to restore; for, satisfied as he was with his own conception, it +still appeared to him as if, in executing it, he were but spoiling the +original. + +When all was finished, he read his work to Serlo and the rest. +They declared themselves exceedingly contented with it: Serlo, in +particular, made many flattering observations. + +“You have felt very justly,” said he, among other things, “that some +external circumstances must accompany this play, but that they must be +simpler than those which the great poet has employed. What takes place +without the theatre, what the spectator does not see but must imagine, +is like a background, in front of which the acting figures move. Your +large and simple prospect of the fleet and Norway will do much to +improve the play: if this were altogether taken from it, we should have +but a family scene remaining; and the great idea that here a kingly +house, by internal crimes and incongruities, goes down to ruin, would +not be presented with its proper dignity. But if the former background +were left standing, so manifold, so fluctuating and confused, it would +hurt the impression of the figures.” + +Wilhelm again took Shakespeare’s part; alleging that he wrote for +islanders, for Englishmen, who generally in the distance were +accustomed to see little else than ships and voyages, the coast of +France and privateers; and thus what perplexed and distracted others +was to them quite natural. + +Serlo assented; and both were of opinion that, as the play was now +to be produced upon the German stage, this more serious and simple +background was the best adapted for the German mind. + +The parts had been distributed before: Serlo undertook Polonius; +Aurelia, Ophelia; Laertes was already designated by his name; a young, +thick-set, jolly newcomer was to be Horatio; the King and Ghost alone +occasioned some perplexity, for both of these no one but Old Boisterous +remaining. Serlo proposed to make the Pedant, King; but against this +our friend protested in the strongest terms. They could resolve on +nothing. + +Wilhelm had also allowed both Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to continue +in his play. “Why not compress them into one?” said Serlo. “This +abbreviation will not cost you much.” + +“Heaven keep me from all such curtailments!” answered Wilhelm; “they +destroy at once the sense and the effect. What these two persons are +and do it is impossible to represent by one. In such small matters +we discover Shakespeare’s greatness. These soft approaches, this +smirking and bowing, this assenting, wheedling, flattering, this +whisking agility, this wagging of the tail, this allness and emptiness, +this legal knavery, this ineptitude and insipidity,--how can they +be expressed by a single man? There ought to be at least a dozen of +these people, if they could be had; for it is only in society that +they are anything; they are society itself; and Shakespeare showed no +little wisdom and discernment in bringing in a pair of them. Besides, +I need them as a couple that may be contrasted with the single, noble, +excellent Horatio....” + + * * * * * + +Though in this remolding of _Hamlet_ many characters had been cut off, +a sufficient number of them still remained,--a number which the company +was scarcely adequate to meet. + +“If this is the way of it,” said Serlo, “our prompter himself must +issue from his den, and mount the stage, and become a personage like +one of us....” + + * * * * * + +“The very man!” exclaimed our friend, “the very man! What a fortunate +discovery! We have now the proper hand for delivering the passage of +‘The rugged Pyrrhus.’” + +“One requires your eagerness,” said Serlo, “before he can employ every +object in the use it was meant for.” + +“In truth,” said Wilhelm, “I was very much afraid we should be obliged +to leave this passage out: the omission would have lamed the whole +play.” + +“Well! That is what I cannot understand,” observed Aurelia. + +“I hope you will erelong be of my opinion,” answered Wilhelm. +“Shakespeare has introduced these traveling players with a double +purpose. The person who recites the death of Priam with such feeling, +in the _first_ place, makes a deep impression on the prince himself; he +sharpens the conscience of the wavering youth: and, accordingly, this +scene becomes a prelude to that other, where, in the _second_ place, +the little play produces such effect upon the King. Hamlet sees himself +reproved and put to shame by the player, who feels so deep a sympathy +in foreign and fictitious woes; and the thought of making an experiment +upon the conscience of his stepfather is in consequence suggested to +him. What a royal monologue is that which ends the second act! How +charming it will be to speak it!” + + “‘Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! + Is it not monstrous that this player here, + But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, + Could force his soul so to his own conceit, + That, from her working, all his visage wann’d; + Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect, + A broken voice, and his whole function suiting + With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing! + For Hecuba! + What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, + That he should weep for her?’” ... + +In particular, one evening, the manager was very merry in speaking of +the part of Polonius, and how he meant to take it up. “I engage,” said +he, “on this occasion, to present a very meritorious person in his best +aspect. The repose and security of this old gentleman, his emptiness +and his significance, his exterior gracefulness and interior meanness, +his frankness and sycophancy, his sincere roguery and deceitful truth, +I will introduce with all due elegance in their fit proportions. This +respectable, gray-haired, enduring, time-serving half-knave, I will +represent in the most courtly style: the occasional roughness and +coarseness of our author’s strokes will further me here. I will speak +like a book when I am prepared beforehand, and like an ass when I utter +the overflowings of my heart. I will be insipid and absurd enough to +chime in with every one, and acute enough never to observe when people +make a mock of me. I have seldom taken up a part with so much zeal and +roguishness.” + +“Could I but hope as much from mine!” exclaimed Aurelia. “I have +neither youth nor softness enough to be at home in this character. One +thing alone I am too sure of,--the feeling that turns Ophelia’s brain, +I shall not want.” + +“We must not take the matter up so strictly,” said our friend. “For my +share, I am certain that the wish to act the character of Hamlet has +led me exceedingly astray throughout my study of the play. And now, the +more I look into the part, the more clearly do I see that, in my whole +form and physiognomy, there is not one feature such as Shakespeare +meant for Hamlet. When I consider with what nicety the various +circumstances are adapted to each other, I can scarcely hope to produce +even a tolerable effect.” + +“You are entering on your new career with becoming conscientiousness,” +said Serlo. “The actor fits himself to his part as he can, and the part +to him as it must. But how has Shakespeare drawn his Hamlet? Is he so +utterly unlike you?” + +“In the first place,” answered Wilhelm, “he is fair-haired.” + +“That I call far-fetched,” observed Aurelia. “How do you infer that?” + +“As a Dane, as a Northman, he is fair-haired and blue-eyed by descent.” + +“And you think Shakespeare had this in view?” + +“I do not find it specially expressed; but, by comparison of passages, +I think it incontestable. The fencing tires him; the sweat is +running from his brow; and the Queen remarks, ‘_He’s fat, and scant +of breath._’ Can you conceive him to be otherwise than plump and +fair-haired? Brown-complexioned people, in their youth, are seldom +plump. And does not his wavering melancholy, his soft lamenting, his +irresolute activity, accord with such a figure? From a dark-haired +young man, you would look for more decision and impetuosity.” + +“You are spoiling my imagination,” cried Aurelia; “away with your fat +Hamlets! Do not set your well-fed prince before us! Give us rather any +_succedancum_ that will move us, will delight us. The intention of the +author is of less importance to us than our own enjoyment, and we need +a charm that is adapted for us.” + + * * * * * + +One evening a dispute arose among our friends about the novel and the +drama, and which of them deserved the preference. Serlo said it was a +fruitless and misunderstood debate: both might be superior in their +kinds, only each must keep within the limits proper to it. + +“About their limits and their kinds,” said Wilhelm, “I confess myself +not altogether clear.” + +“Who _is_ so?” said the other; “and yet perhaps it were worth while to +come a little closer to the business.” + +They conversed together long upon the matter; and, in fine, the +following was nearly the result of their discussion:-- + +“In the novel as well as in the drama, it is human nature and human +action that we see. The difference between these sorts of fiction lies +not merely in their outward form,--not merely in the circumstance that +the personages of the one are made to speak, while those of the other +have commonly their history narrated. Unfortunately many dramas are but +novels which proceed by dialogue; and it would not be impossible to +write a drama in the shape of letters. + +“But, in the novel, it is chiefly _sentiments_ and _events_ that are +exhibited; in the drama, it is _characters_ and _deeds_. The novel +must go slowly forward; and the sentiments of the hero, by some means +or another, must restrain the tendency of the whole to unfold itself +and to conclude. The drama, on the other hand, must hasten; and the +character of the hero must press forward to the end: it does not +restrain, but is restrained. The novel-hero must be suffering,--at +least he must not in a high degree be active; in the dramatic one, we +look for activity and deeds. Grandison, Clarissa, Pamela, the Vicar +of Wakefield, Tom Jones himself, are, if not suffering, at least +retarding, personages; and the incidents are all in some sort modeled +by their sentiments. In the drama the hero models nothing by himself; +all things withstand him; and he clears and casts away the hindrances +from off his path, or else sinks under them.” + +Our friends were also of opinion that, in the novel, some degree of +scope may be allowed to Chance, but that it must always be led and +guided by the sentiments of the personages; on the other hand, that +Fate, which, by means of outward, unconnected circumstances, proceeds +to an unforeseen catastrophe, can have place only in the drama; that +Chance may produce pathetic situations, but never tragic ones; Fate, on +the other hand, ought always to be terrible,--and is, in the highest +sense, tragic, when it brings into a ruinous concatenation the guilty +man and the guiltless that was unconcerned with him. + +These considerations led them back to the play of _Hamlet_, and +the peculiarities of its composition. The hero in this case, it +was observed, is endowed more properly with sentiments than with a +character: it is events alone that push him on, and accordingly the +play has in some measure the expansion of a novel. But as it is Fate +that draws the plan, as the story issues from a deed of terror, the +work is tragic in the highest sense, and admits of no other than a +tragic end.... + + * * * * * + +The necessary preparations for scenery and dresses, and whatever else +was requisite, were now proceeding. In regard to certain scenes and +passages, our friend had whims of his own, which Serlo humored, partly +in consideration of their bargain, partly from conviction, and because +he hoped by these civilities to gain Wilhelm, and to lead him according +to his own purposes the more implicitly in time to come. + +Thus, for example, the King and Queen were, at the first audience, to +appear sitting on the throne, with the courtiers at the sides, and +Hamlet standing undistinguished in the crowd. “Hamlet,” said he, “must +keep himself quiet; his sable dress will sufficiently point him out. He +should rather shun remark than seek it. Not till the audience is ended, +and the King speaks with him as with a son, should he advance, and +allow the scene to take its course.” + +A formidable obstacle remained, in regard to the two pictures which +Hamlet so passionately refers to in the scene with his mother. “We +ought,” said Wilhelm, “to have both of them visible, at full length, in +the bottom of the chamber, near the main door; and the former king must +be clad in armor, like the Ghost, and hang at the side where it enters. +I could wish that the figure held its right hand in a commanding +attitude, were somewhat turned away, and, as it were, looked over its +shoulder, that so it might perfectly resemble the Ghost at the moment +when he issues from the door. It will produce a great effect when +at this instant Hamlet looks upon the Ghost, and the Queen upon the +picture. The stepfather may be painted in royal ornaments, but not so +striking.” + +There were several other points of this sort, about which we shall, +perhaps, elsewhere have opportunity to speak. + +“Are you, then, inexorably bent on Hamlet’s dying at the end?” inquired +Serlo. + +“How can I keep him alive,” said Wilhelm, “when the whole play is +pressing him to death? We have already talked at large on that matter.” + +“But the public wishes him to live.” + +“I will show the public any other complaisance; but, as to this, I +cannot. We often wish that some gallant, useful man, who is dying +of a chronic disease, might yet live longer. The family weep, and +conjure the physician; but he cannot stay him: and no more than this +physician can withstand the necessity of nature, can we give law to +an acknowledged necessity of art. It is a false compliance with the +multitude, to raise in them emotions which they _wish_, when these are +not emotions which they _ought_, to feel.” + +“Whoever pays the cash,” said Serlo, “may require the ware according to +his liking.” + +“Doubtless, in some degree,” replied our friend; “but a great public +should be reverenced, not used as children are when peddlers wish to +hook the money from them. By presenting excellence to the people, you +should gradually excite in them a taste and feeling for the excellent; +and they will pay their money with double satisfaction when reason +itself has nothing to object against this outlay. The public you may +flatter, as you do a well-beloved child, to better, to enlighten it; +not as you do a pampered child of quality, to perpetuate the error you +profit from.” + +In this manner various other topics were discussed relating to the +question, What might still be changed in the play, and what must of +necessity remain untouched? We shall not enter farther on those points +at present; but, perhaps, at some future time we may submit this +altered _Hamlet_ itself to such of our readers as feel any interest in +the subject. + + + + +SHAKESPEARE AD INFINITUM + +(1813-16) + + +There has already been so much said about Shakespeare that it +would seem as if there was nothing left to say; and yet it is the +characteristic of genius ever to be stimulating other men’s genius. +In the present case I wish to consider Shakespeare from more than one +point of view,--first as a poet in general, then in comparison with the +classic and modern writers, and finally as a writer of poetic drama. I +shall attempt to work out what the imitation of his art has meant to +us, and what it can mean in the future. I shall express my agreement +with what has been written by reiterating it, and express my dissent +briefly and positively, without involving myself in conflict and +contradiction. I proceed to the first topic. + + +_I. Shakespeare as Poet in General_ + +The highest achievement possible to a man is the full consciousness of +his own feelings and thoughts, for this gives him the means of knowing +intimately the hearts of others. Now there are men who are born with +a natural talent for this and who cultivate it by experience towards +practical ends. From this talent springs the ability to profit in a +higher sense by the world and its opportunities. Now the poet is born +with the same talent, only he cultivates it not for his immediate +worldly purposes but for a loftier spiritual and universal purpose. If +we call Shakespeare one of the greatest poets, we mean that few have +perceived the world as accurately as he, that few who have expressed +their inner contemplation of it have given the reader deeper insight +into its meaning and consciousness. It becomes for us completely +transparent: we find ourselves at once in the most intimate touch with +virtue and vice, greatness and meanness, nobility and infamy, and all +this through the simplest of means. If we ask what these means are, it +seems as if they were directed towards our visual apprehension. But we +are mistaken; Shakespeare’s works are not for the physical vision. I +shall attempt to explain what I mean. + +The eye, the most facile of our organs of receptivity, may well be +called the clearest of the senses; but the inner sense is still +clearer, and to it by means of words belongs the most sensitive and +clear receptivity. This is particularly obvious when what we apprehend +with the eye seems alien and unimpressive considered in and for itself. +But Shakespeare speaks always to our inner sense. Through this, the +picture-world of imagination becomes animated, and a complete effect +results, of which we can give no reckoning. Precisely here lies the +ground for the illusion that everything is taking place before our +eyes. But if we study the works of Shakespeare enough, we find that +they contain much more of spiritual truth than of spectacular action. +He makes happen what can easily be conceived by the imagination, indeed +what can be better imagined than seen. Hamlet’s ghost, Macbeth’s +witches, many fearful incidents, get their value only through the power +of the imagination, and many of the minor scenes get their force from +the same source. In reading, all these things pass easily through our +minds, and seem quite appropriate, whereas in representation on the +stage they would strike us unfavorably and appear not only unpleasant +but even disgusting. + +Shakespeare gets his effect by means of the living word, and it is +for this reason that one should hear him read, for then the attention +is not distracted either by a too adequate or a too inadequate +stage-setting. There is no higher or purer pleasure than to sit with +closed eyes and hear a naturally expressive voice recite, not declaim, +a play of Shakespeare’s. According to the delineation of the characters +we can picture to ourselves certain forms, but more particularly are we +able by the succession of words and phrases to learn what is passing +in their souls; the characters seem to have agreed to leave us in the +dark, in doubt, about nothing. To that end conspire heroes and lackeys, +gentlemen and slaves, kings and heralds; indeed even the subordinate +characters are often more expressive in this way than the leading +figures. Everything which in an affair of great importance breathes +only secretly through the air, or lies hidden in the hearts of men, is +here openly expressed. What the soul anxiously conceals and represses +is here brought freely and abundantly to the light. We experience the +truth of life,--how, we do not know! + +Shakespeare associates himself with the World-Spirit; like it, he +explores the world; from neither is anything hidden. But whereas it is +the business of the World-Spirit to keep its secrets both before and +after the event, it is the work of the poet to tell them, and take us +into his confidence before the event or in the very action itself. The +depraved man of power, the well-intentioned dullard, the passionate +lover, the quiet scholar, all carry their heart in their hand, often +contrary to verisimilitude. Every one is candid and loquacious. It is +enough that the secret must out, and even the stones would publish it. +The inanimate insists upon speaking; the elements, the phenomena of +sky, earth and sea, thunder and lightning, wild animals, lift their +voice, often apparently symbolically, but all joining in the revelation. + +The whole civilized world too brings its treasures to Shakespeare; +Art and Science, Commerce and Industry, all bear him their gifts. +Shakespeare’s poems are a great animated fair; and it is to his own +country that he owes his riches. + +For back of him is England, the sea-encircled and mist-covered country, +whose enterprise reaches all the parts of the earth. The poet lives +at a noble and important epoch, and presents all its glory and its +deficiencies with great vivacity; indeed, he would hardly produce such +an effect upon us were it not just his own life-epoch that he was +representing. No one despised the outer costume of men more than he; +but he understood well the inner man, and here all are similar. It is +said that he has delineated the Romans with wonderful skill. I cannot +see it. They are Englishmen to the bone; but they are human, thoroughly +human, and thus the Roman toga presumably fits them. When one takes +this into consideration, one finds his anachronisms entirely admirable; +indeed, it is just his neglect of the outer form that makes his works +so vital. + +Enough of these slight words, which cannot begin to sound the praises +of Shakespeare. His friends and worshipers will have to add many a word +to them. But one more remark:--it would be hard to find a poet each of +whose works was more thoroughly pervaded by a definite and effective +idea than his. + +Thus _Coriolanus_ is permeated by the idea of anger at the refusal of +the lower classes to recognize the superiority of their betters. In +_Julius Cæsar_ everything hinges on the idea that the upper classes +are not willing to see the highest place in the State occupied, since +they wrongly imagine that they are able to act together. _Antony and +Cleopatra_ expresses with a thousand tongues the idea that pleasure and +action are ever incompatible. And so one will ever find, in searching +his works, new cause for astonishment and admiration. + + +_II. Shakespeare Compared with the Ancients and the Moderns_ + +The interests which vitalize Shakespeare’s great genius are interests +which centre in this world. For if prophecy and madness, dreams, omens, +portents, fairies and gnomes, ghosts, imps, and conjurers introduce +a magical element which so beautifully pervades his poems, yet these +figures are in no way the basic elements of his works, but rest on a +broad basis of the truth and fidelity of life, so that everything that +comes from his pen seems to us genuine and sound. It has already been +suggested that he belongs not so much to the poets of the modern era, +which has been called “romantic,” but much more to the “naturalistic” +school, since his work is permeated with the reality of the present, +and scarcely touches the emotions of unsatisfied desire, except at his +highest points. + +Disregarding this, however, he is, from a closer point of view, a +decidedly modern poet, separated from the ancients by an enormous gulf, +not perhaps with regard to his outer form, which is here beside our +point, but with regard to his inner and most profound spirit. + +Here let me say that it is not my idea to use the following terminology +as exhaustive or exclusive; it is an attempt not so much to add another +new antithesis to those already recognized, as to indicate that it is +already contained in these. These are the antitheses:-- + + Ancient Modern + Natural Sentimental + Pagan Christian + Classic Romantic + Realistic Idealistic + Necessity Freedom + Duty (_sollen_) Will (_wollen_)[8] + +The greatest ills to which men are exposed, as well as the most +numerous, arise from a certain inner conflict between duty and will, +as well as between duty and its accomplishment, and desire and its +accomplishment; and it is these conflicts which bring us so often into +trouble in the course of our lives. Little difficulties, springing +from a slight error which, though taking us by surprise, can be solved +easily, give the clue to situations of comedy. The great difficulties, +on the other hand, unresolved and unresolvable, give us tragedy. + +Predominating in the old poems is the conflict between duty and +performance, in the new between desire and accomplishment. Let us put +this decided divergency among the other antitheses and see if it does +not prove suggestive. In both epochs, I have said, there predominates +now this side, now that; but since duty and desire are not radically +separated in men’s characters, both will be found together, even if +one prevails and the other is subordinate. Duty is imposed upon men; +“must” is a bitter pill. The Will man imposes upon himself; man’s will +is his kingdom of heaven. A long-continued obligation is burdensome, +the inability to perform it even terrible; but a constant will is +pleasurable, and with a firm will men can console themselves for their +inability to accomplish their desire. + +Let us consider a game of cards as a kind of poem; it consists of both +those elements. The form of the game, bound up with chance, plays here +the rôle of necessity, just as the ancients knew it under the form of +Fate; the will, bound up with the skill of the player, works in the +other direction. In this sense I might call whist “classic.” The form +of play limits the operation of chance, and even of the will itself. I +have to play, in company with definite partners and opponents, with +the cards which come into my hand, make the best of a long series of +chance plays, without being able to control or parry them. In Ombre and +similar games, the contrary is the case. Here are many openings left +for skill and daring. I can disavow the cards that fall to my hand, +make them count in different ways, half or completely discard them, get +help by luck, and in the play get the best advantage out of the worst +cards. Thus this kind of game resembles perfectly the modern mode of +thought and literature. + +Ancient tragedy was based on unescapable necessity, which was only +sharpened and accelerated by an opposing will. Here is the seat of all +that is fearful in the oracles, the region in which Œdipus lords it +over all. Less tragic appears necessity in the guise of duty in the +“Antigone”; and in how many forms does it not appear! But all necessity +is despotic, whether it belong to the realm of Reason, like custom +and civil law, or to Nature, like the laws of Becoming, and Growing +and Passing-away, of Life and of Death. Before all these we tremble, +without realizing that it is the good of the _whole_ that is aimed at. +The will, on the contrary, is free, appears free, and is advantageous +to the _individual_. Thus the will is a flatterer, and takes possession +of men as soon as they learn to recognize it. It is the god of the +modern world. Dedicated to it, we are afraid of opposing doctrines, and +here lies the crux of that eternal division which separates our art and +thought from the ancients. Through the motive of Necessity, tragedy +became mighty and strong; through the motive of Will, weak and feeble. +Out of the latter arose the so-called Drama, in which dread Necessity +is overcome and dissolved through the Will. But just because this comes +to the aid of our weakness we feel moved when, after painful tension, +we are at last a little encouraged and consoled. + +As I turn now, after these preliminaries, to Shakespeare, I must +express the hope that the reader himself will make the proper +comparisons and applications. It is Shakespeare’s unique distinction +that he has combined in such remarkable fashion the old and the new. In +his plays Will and Necessity struggle to maintain an equilibrium; both +contend powerfully, yet always so that Will remains at a disadvantage. + +No one has shown perhaps better than he the connection between +Necessity and Will in the individual character. The person, considered +as a character, is under a certain necessity; he is constrained, +appointed to a certain particular line of action; but as a human being +he has a will, which is unconfined and universal in its demands. Thus +arises an inner conflict, and Shakespeare is superior to all other +writers in the significance with which he endows this. But now an +outer conflict may arise, and the individual through it may become so +aroused that an insufficient will is raised through circumstance to +the level of irremissible necessity. These motives I have referred to +earlier in the case of Hamlet; but the motive is repeated constantly +in Shakespeare,--Hamlet through the agency of the ghost; Macbeth +through the witches, Hecate, and his wife; Brutus through his friends +gets into a dilemma and situation to which they were not equal; even +in Coriolanus the same motive is found. This Will, which reaches +beyond the power of the individual, is decidedly modern. But since in +Shakespeare it does not spring from within, but is developed through +external circumstance, it becomes a sort of Necessity, and approaches +the classical motive. For all the heroes of ancient poetry willed +only what was possible to men, and from this arose that beautiful +balance between Necessity, Will, and Accomplishment. Still their +Necessity is a little too severe for it really to be able to please +us, even though we may wonder at and admire it. A Necessity which +more or less, or even completely, excludes human freedom does not +chime with our views any longer. It is true that Shakespeare in his +own way has approximated this, but in making this Necessity a moral +necessity he has, to our pleasure and astonishment, united the spirit +of the ancient and the modern worlds. If we are to learn anything from +him, here is the point where we must study in his school. Instead of +singing the praises of our Romanticism so exclusively, and sticking +to it so uncritically,--our Romanticism, which need not be chidden or +rejected,--and thus mistaking and obscuring its strong, solid practical +aspect, we should rather attempt to make this great fusion between the +old and the new, even though it does seem inconsistent and paradoxical; +and all the more should we make the attempt, because a great and unique +master, whom we value most highly, and, often without knowing why, give +homage to above all others, has already most effectively accomplished +this miracle. To be sure, he had the advantage of living in a true +time of harvest, and of working in a vigorous Protestant country, +where the madness of bigotry was silent for a time, so that freedom +was given to a true child of nature, such as Shakespeare was, to +develop religiously his own pure inner nature, without reference to any +established religion. + + * * * * * + +The preceding words were written in the summer of 1813; I ask that the +reader will not now find fault with me, but simply recall what was said +above,--that this is merely an individual attempt to show how different +poetic geniuses have tried to reconcile and resolve that tremendous +antithesis which has appeared in their works in so many forms. To +say more would be superfluous, since interest has been centred in +this question for the past few years, and excellent explanations have +been given us. Above all I wish to mention Blümner’s highly valuable +treatise, _On the Idea of Fate in the Tragedies of Æschylus_, and +the excellent criticism of it in the supplement of the _Jenaische +Literaturzeitung_. Therefore, I come without further comment to my +third point, which relates immediately to the German theatre and to +Schiller’s efforts to establish it for the future. + + +_III. Shakespeare as Playwright_ + +When lovers of art wish to enjoy any work, they contemplate and delight +in it as a whole, that is, they try to feel and apprehend the unity +which the artist can bring to them. Whoever, on the other hand, wishes +to judge such works theoretically, to assert some judgment about them, +or instruct some one about them, must use his discriminating and +analytic faculty. This we attempted to carry out when we discussed +Shakespeare, first, as poet in general, and then compared him with +the ancient and modern poets. Now we intend to close the matter by +considering him as a playwright, or poet of the theatre. + +Shakespeare’s fame and excellence belong to the history of poetry; but +it is an injustice towards all playwrights of earlier and more recent +times to give him his entire merit in the annals of the theatre. + +A universally recognized talent may make of its capacities some use +which is problematical. Not everything which the great do is done in +the best fashion. So Shakespeare belongs by necessity in the annals of +poetry; in the annals of the theatre he appears only by accident. Since +we can honor him so unreservedly in the first case, it behooves us in +the second to explain the conditions to which he had to accommodate +himself, but not therefore to extol these conditions as either +admirable or worthy of imitation. + +We must distinguish closely-related poetic _genres_, however often +they may be confused and merged together in actual treatment,--epic, +dialogue, drama, play. _Epic_ requires the verbal delivery to the +crowd through the mouth of an individual; _dialogue_, conversation +in a narrow circle, where the crowd may eventually listen; _drama_, +conversation bound up with action, even if enacted only before the +imagination; _play_, all three together, in so far as they appeal to +the sense of vision, and can be embodied under certain conditions of +personal presence and stage-setting. + +Shakespeare’s works are in this sense highly dramatic; by his +treatment, his revelation of the inner life, he wins the reader; the +theatrical demands appear to him unimportant, and so he takes it easy, +and we, spiritually speaking, take it easy with him. We pass with +him from place to place; our power of imagination provides all the +episodes which he omits. We even feel grateful to him for arousing our +imagination in so profitable a way. Since he exhibits everything in +dramatic form, he renders easy the working of our imaginations; for +with the “stage that signifies the world,” we are more familiar than +with the world itself, and we can read and hear the most phantastic +things, and still imagine that they might pass before our eyes on the +stage. This accounts for the frequently bungling dramatizations of +favorite novels. + +Strictly speaking, nothing is theatrical except what is immediately +symbolical to the eye: an important action, that is, which signifies +a still more important one. That Shakespeare knew how to attain this +summit, that moment witnesses where the son and heir in _Henry IV_ +takes the crown from the side of the slumbering king, who lies sick +unto death,--takes the crown and marches proudly away with it. But +these are only moments, scattered jewels, separated by much that is +untheatrical. Shakespeare’s whole method finds in the stage itself +something unwieldy and hostile. His great talent is that of a universal +interpreter, or “epitomizer” (_Epitomator_), and since the poet +in essence appears as universal interpreter of Nature, so we must +recognize Shakespeare’s great genius as lying in this realm; it would +be only falsehood--and in no sense is this to his dishonor--were we to +say that the stage was a worthy field for his genius. These limitations +of the stage, however, have forced upon him certain limitations of +his own. But he does not, like other poets, pick out disconnected +materials for his separate works, but puts an idea at the centre, and +to it relates the world and the universe. As he works over and boils +down ancient and modern history, he can often make use of the material +of old chronicles; indeed, he often adapts them word for word. With +romances he does not deal so conscientiously, as _Hamlet_ shows us. +_Romeo and Juliet_ is truer to the original; still he almost destroys +the tragic content of it by his two comic characters, Mercutio and the +old nurse, played apparently by two favorite actors, the nurse perhaps +originally by a male performer. If one examines the construction of the +piece carefully, however, one notices that these two figures, and what +surrounds them, come in only as farcical interludes, and must be as +unbearable to the minds of the lovers on the stage as they are to us. + +But Shakespeare appears most remarkable when he revises and pieces +together already existing plays. In _King John_ and _Lear_ we can make +this comparison, for the older plays are extant. But in these cases, +too, he turns out to be more of a poet than playwright. + +In closing, let us proceed to the solution of the riddle. The +primitiveness of the English stage has been brought to our attention +by scholars. There is no trace in it of that striving after realism, +which we have developed with the improvement of machinery and the art +of perspective and costuming, and from which we should find it hard to +turn back to that childlike beginning of the stage,--a scaffolding, +where one saw little, where everything was _signified_, where the +audience was content to assume a royal chamber behind a green curtain; +and the trumpeter, who always blew his trumpet at a certain place, and +all the rest of it. Who would be content to-day to put up with such a +stage? But amid such surroundings, Shakespeare’s plays were highly +interesting stories, only told by several persons, who, in order to +make somewhat more of an impression, had put on masks, and, when it was +necessary, moved back and forth, entered and left the stage; but left +to the spectator nevertheless the task of imagining at his pleasure +Paradise and palaces on the empty stage. + +How else then did Schroeder acquire the great distinction of bringing +Shakespeare’s plays to the German stage, except by the fact that he was +the “epitomizer” of the “epitomizer”! + +Schroeder confined himself exclusively to effect; everything else he +discarded, even many necessary things, if they seemed to injure the +effect which he wanted to produce on his country and his time. Thus +by the omission, for instance, of the first scenes of _King Lear_, he +annulled the character of the play. And he was right, for in this scene +Lear seems so absurd that we are not able, in what follows, to ascribe +to his daughters the entire guilt. We are sorry for the old man, but +we do not feel real pity for him; and it is pity that Schroeder wishes +to arouse, as well as abhorrence for the daughters, who are indeed +unnatural, but not wholly blameworthy. + +In the old play, which Shakespeare revised, this scene produces in the +course of the action the loveliest effect. Lear flees to France; the +daughters and the stepson, from romantic caprice, make a pilgrimage +over the sea, and meet the old man, who does not recognize them. Here +everything is sweet, where Shakespeare’s loftier tragic genius has +embittered us. A comparison of these plays will give the thoughtful +reader ever fresh pleasure. + +Many years ago the superstition crept into Germany that Shakespeare +must be given literally word for word, even if actors and audience +were murdered in the process. The attempts, occasioned by an excellent +and exact translation, were nowhere successful, of which fact the +painstaking and repeated endeavors of the stage at Weimar are the best +witness. If we wish to see a Shakespearean play, we must take up again +Schroeder’s version; but the notion that in the staging of Shakespeare +not an iota may be omitted, senseless as it is, one hears constantly +repeated. If the defenders of this opinion maintain the upper hand, in +a few years Shakespeare will be quite driven from the stage, which for +that matter would be no great misfortune; for then the reader, whether +he be solitary or sociable, will be able to get so much the purer +pleasure out of him. + +They have, however, with the idea of making an attempt along the lines +of which we have spoken in detail above, revised _Romeo and Juliet_ +for the theatre at Weimar. The principles according to which this was +done we shall develop before long, and it will perhaps become apparent +why this version, whose staging is by no means difficult, although it +must be handled artistically and carefully, did not take on the German +stage. Attempts of a similar kind are going on, and perhaps something +is preparing for the future, for frequent endeavors do not always show +immediate effects. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[8] “Goethe, in a thoughtful essay, _Shakespeare und kein +Ende_, written many years later than his famous criticism of Hamlet in +_Wilhelm Meister_, says that the distinction between the two [ancient +and modern drama] is the difference between _sollen_ and _wollen_, +that is, between _must_ and _would_. He means that in the Greek drama +the catastrophe is foreordained by an inexorable Destiny, while the +element of free will, and consequently choice, is the very axis of +the modern. The definition is conveniently portable, but it has its +limitations. Goethe’s attention was too exclusively fixed on the fate +tragedies of the Greeks, and upon Shakespeare among the moderns. In the +Spanish drama, for example, custom, loyalty, honor, and religion are as +imperative and as inevitable as doom. In the _Antigone_, on the other +hand, the crisis lies in the character of the protagonist.”--James +Russell Lowell, _Shakespeare Once More_. + + + + +FIRST EDITION OF _HAMLET_ + +(1827) + + _The First Edition of the Tragedy of Hamlet_, by William Shakespeare, + London, 1603. Reprinted by Fleischer, Leipzig, 1825. + + +In this book Shakespeare’s devoted admirers receive a valuable present. +The first unbiased reading has given me a wonderful impression. It was +the old familiar masterpiece again, its action and movement in no way +altered, but the most powerful and effective principal passages left +untouched, just as they came from the original hand of the genius. The +play was exceedingly easy and delightful to read. One thought one’s +self in a wholly familiar world, and yet felt something peculiar which +could not be expressed, and this induced one to give the play a closer +consideration, and indeed a stricter comparison with the old. Hence +these few random remarks. + +First of all, it was noticeable that there was no locality given, nor +was there information about the stage-setting, and just as little +about the division of the acts and scenes. All this was represented +by “Enter” and “Exit.” The imagination was allowed free play. One saw +again in his mind’s eye the old primitive English stage. The action +took its impetuous course of life and passion, and one did not take the +time to think of such things as places. + +In the more recent familiar revision we find the division into acts and +scenes, and locality and stage-setting are given. Whether these are by +him or by later stage-managers, we leave undecided here. + +The Polonius of the second revision is called Corambis in the first, +and the rôle appears through this little circumstance to take on +another character. + +The unimportant supernumerary rôles were first designated merely by +numbers, but here we find them endowed with honor and significance +through being given names. We are thus reminded of Schiller, who in +_Wilhelm Tell_ gave names to his peasant women and some words to speak, +so that they became more acceptable rôles. The poet does the same here +with guards and courtiers. + +If in the first edition we find a loosely written syllabication, in the +later one we find it better controlled, though always without pedantry. +Rhythmic passages are divided into five-foot iambics, though half and +quarter verses are not avoided. + +So much for the external expression. A comparison of the inner +connections and relations will be of profit to any admirer who gives +the work an individual study. Here are only a few suggestions. + +Passages, which in the first version are only lightly sketched by the +hand of genius, we find more deliberately executed, and in a way that +we have to approve and admire as necessary. We come, too, upon pleasing +amplifications, which may not be absolutely necessary, but which are +highly welcome. Here and there we find hardly perceptible yet vivid +aspersions, connective passages, even important transpositions to +make a highly effective speech,--everything done with a master-hand, +with intelligence and feeling, everything thrilling our emotions and +clarifying our insight. + +Everywhere in the first version we admire that sureness of touch which, +without lengthy reflection, seems rather as if it had been poured out +spontaneously, a vivifying and illuminating discovery. And whatever +excellences the poet may have given to his later work, whatever +deviations he employed, at least we find nowhere any important omission +or alteration. Only here and there some rather coarse and naïve +expressions are expunged. + +In closing we shall mention, however, a noticeable difference which +concerns the costume of the Ghost. His first appearance, as we know, is +in armor; he is armed from head to foot; his face is pale and sad, his +glance wan and yet austere. In this guise he appears on the terrace, +where the castle guard is marching up and down, and where he himself +may often have drawn up his warriors. + +In the closet of the Queen, on the other hand, we find mother and son +in the familiar dialogue, and finally these words:-- + + “Queen. Hamlet, you break my heart. + + Hamlet. O throw the worser part away and keep the better.” + +But then follows: “Enter the Ghost in his night-gowne.” + +Who, on first hearing this, does not find it for a moment incongruous? +And yet if we grasp it, if we think it over, we shall find it right +and proper. He should--indeed he must--appear first in armor, when he +is entering the place where he has rallied his warriors, where he has +encouraged them to noble deeds. And now we begin to be less confident +of our conviction that it was suitable to see him enter the private +closet of the queen in armor, too. How much more private, homelike, +terrible, is his entrance here in the form in which he used to +appear--in his house apparel, his night robe, harmless and unarmed--a +guise which in itself stigmatizes in the most piteous way the treachery +which befell him. Let the intelligent reader, as he may, picture this +to himself. Let the stage-manager, convinced of this effect, produce it +in this way, if Shakespeare is to be staged in his integrity. + +It is worth noting that the commentator Steevens has already criticized +this scene. When Hamlet says:-- + + “My father in his habit as he lived!” + +this discerning critic adds this note:--“If the poet means by this +expression that the father is appearing in his own house costume, he +has either forgotten that at the beginning he introduced him in armor, +or else it must be his intention in this latter appearance to alter +his attire. Hamlet’s father, just as a warrior prince might do, does +not always remain in armor, or sleep, as they tell of King Haakon, of +Norway, with his battle-ax in his hand.” + +If we had been clever enough, we should have already thought of +Hamlet’s first utterance in this scene, when he sees the Ghost:--“What +would your gracious figure?” For we have not words enough to express +all that the English mean by the word “gracious,”--everything that is +kind and gentle, friendly and benign, tender, and attractive, is fused +in that word. Certainly it is no term for a hero in armor. + +These doubts are happily now dispelled by the reprinting of the first +edition. We are convinced anew that Shakespeare, like the Universe, is +always offering us new aspects, and still remains, at the end of it +all, lofty and inaccessible. For all our powers are not competent to do +justice to his words, much less his genius. + + + + +_TROILUS AND CRESSIDA_ + +(1824) + + +A comparison of the _Iliad_ with _Troilus and Cressida_ leads to +similar conclusions: here, too, there is neither parody nor travesty, +but, as in the case of the eagle and the owl two subjects taken +from nature were put in striking contrast with each other, so here +are contrasted the intellectual fibre of two epochs. The Greek poem +is in the grand style, self-restrained and self-sufficient, using +only the essential, and, in description and simile, disdaining all +ornament,--basing itself on noble myths and tradition. The English +classic, on the other hand, one might consider a happy transposition +and translation of the other great work into the romantic-dramatic +style. + +In this connection we should not forget, however, that this piece, like +many another, is based on second-hand narratives, already rendered into +prose, and only half-poetical. + +Yet it is also quite original, as much so as if the ancient piece +had never been at all; for it requires just as profound a sincerity, +just as decided a talent, to depict for us similar personalities and +characters with so light a touch and so lucid a meaning, and represent +them for a later age with all the human traits of that age, which thus +sees itself reflected in the guise of the ancient story. + + + + +ON OTHER WRITERS + + + + +GOETHE AS A YOUNG REVIEWER + +(1772) + + +I + +_Lyrical Poems_, by J. C. Blum. Berlin, 1772 + +We no longer feel certain whether it is wise for young poets to +read the ancients early. Our unimaginative mode of life stifles +genius, unless the singers of freer times kindle it and open to it an +atmosphere at least ideally more free; but these very singers also +breathe into the soul so exotic a spirit that the very best poet, +with the most fortunate genius, can soon merely support himself in +his flight through his imagination, and can no longer give expression +to that glowing inspiration which alone makes true poetry. Why are +the poems of the old skalds, of the Celts and the old Greeks, even +of the Orientals, so strong, so fiery, so great? Nature drives them +to singing as it does the bird in the air. As for us (for we cannot +deceive ourselves) we are driven to the lyre by an artificial and +stimulated feeling, which we owe to our admiration for the ancients, +and to our delight in them; and for this reason our best songs, with +few exceptions, are merely imitative copies. + +These remarks have been suggested by the lyrical poems of Herr Blum. +This poet is certainly not without talent, and yet how seldom does he +seem to be able to stand on his own feet when his Horace is not before +his eyes. The latter illumines the way for him, like Hero’s torch; +the moment he must go alone, he sinks. Space does not permit us to +prove our point here, but we ask every reader who knows his Horace +whether the poet does not grow tired and cold whenever Horace and King +David do not lend him thoughts, feelings, expressions, situations, +and in the case of the former even his mythology, all of which, we +must feel, are seldom used except when the imagination creates with +a cold heart. The well-known Horatian dialogue, _Donec gratus eram_, +Kleist has translated much better; but the “Lamentation of David and +Jonathan” we have never seen better versified than here. We wish the +writer an unspoilt maiden, days of complete leisure, and the pure +spirit of poetry without the spirit of mere authorship. The very best +of poets degenerates when in composing he thinks of the public, and is +filled with a yearning for fame, especially newspaper fame, rather than +completely absorbed by his subject. + + +II + +_Cymbelline, a Tragedy, Based on a Shakespearian Theme_ [by J. G. + Sulzer]. Danzig, 1772. + +The author, obliged by a severe illness to avoid all fatiguing +work,--so we are informed in the Preface,--amused himself with the +study of Shakespeare’s works. We could have told him in advance that +this was no reading for a convalescent; whoever wishes to share in +the life that glows through Shakespeare’s plays must himself be sound +in body and mind. At all events, our author, moved by a cool, weak, +critical modesty, regretted that so many “incongruités” should mar the +“many just sentiments” and “some beauties” (as the eminent Dr. Johnson +likewise remarks) that are to be found in this play. So he resolved +to separate the dross from the gold (that is _vox populi critici_ in +regard to Shakespeare since time immemorial), and to attempt nothing +less than this: what Sophocles would approximately have done if he had +tried to make a play out of the same material. So he _travestied_--no, +not travestied, for then something of the appearance of the original +would remain--_parodied_--no, not that either, for then something could +be guessed by the very contrast--what then? what word will express the +poverty that is here, compared with the infinite riches of Shakespeare! + +Shakespeare, who felt the spirit of several centuries in his breast, +through whose soul the life of whole centuries was stirring!--and +here--comedians in silk and buckram, and daubed scene-painting! The +scene a wood; in front a thick copse, through which one enters a +grotto; in the background a large pasteboard rock, on which ladies and +gentlemen sit, lie, are stabbed, etc. + +That is the way Sophocles would have handled this theme! It is bad +enough to take Shakespeare’s play, whose very essence is the life of +history, and reduce it to the Sophoclean unity which aims merely at +presenting action; but to model it on the “Treatise on Tragedy” in the +first part of the old _Leipziger Bibliothek_![9] We are certain that +every one, not merely readers of Shakespeare, will cast it aside with +contempt. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[9] By Nicolai. + + + + +BYRON’S _MANFRED_ + +(1820) + + +To me Byron’s tragedy of _Manfred_ was a wonderful phenomenon, touching +me closely. This singular but highly gifted poet has absorbed my own +_Faust_ into himself, and, like a hypochondriac, drawn from it the +strangest sort of nourishment. Those motives and ideas which suited +his purposes he has made use of, but in his own original way, so that +everything seems different; and for this reason I cannot wonder enough +at his genius. This transformation affects the whole so intimately +that highly interesting lectures could be given on the similarity and +dissimilarity which his work bears to his pattern; but I do not deny +that in the long run the dull glow of a boundless and profound despair +becomes irksome to us. Yet in the dissatisfaction which one feels there +are always interwoven both admiration and respect. + +Thus we find in this tragedy quite uniquely the very quintessence of +the feelings and passions of a remarkable genius, but a genius doomed +from birth to suffering and anguish. The details of his life and +the characteristics of his poetry hardly permit of a just and fair +criticism. He has often enough confessed his anguish; he has repeatedly +presented it in his verse, and it is difficult for any one not to feel +real pity for the unbearable pain which he is forever working and +gnawing over in his heart. + +There are two women whose shadows follow him unceasingly, and who +play a large rôle in his best-known works; one appears under the name +Astarte, the other, without form or presence, simply as A Voice. + +The following story is told of the tragic adventure which was his +experience with the first. As a young, daring and highly attractive +youth he won the love of a Florentine lady; her husband discovered it +and murdered her. But the murderer was found dead that same night in +the street, and there was nothing to throw suspicion upon a single +soul. Lord Byron left Florence, but these apparitions haunted him +throughout his whole life. + +This romantic event appears in his poems in countless allusions, as +for example where he, probably brooding over his own tragedy, applies +the sad story of the king of Sparta to his own case. The story is as +follows: Pausanias, the Lacedæmonian general, having won fame in the +important victory at Platæa, later through arrogance, stubbornness, and +cruel treatment, loses the affection of the Greeks, and, on account +of a secret understanding with the enemy, loses also the confidence +of his countrymen. He thus brings blood-guiltiness upon his head, +which pursues him to a miserable end. For while in command of the +fleet of the Greek allies in the Black Sea, he falls violently in love +with a girl of Byzantium. After a long struggle he wins her from her +parents; she is to be brought to him in the night. Filled with shame, +she requests the servants to put out the light; this is done, but +groping about in the room, she knocks over the lamp-stand. Pausanias +awakes suddenly from sleep, suspects murder, seizes his sword and +kills his beloved. The horrible vision of this scene never leaves him +afterwards, its shadow pursues him unceasingly, so that he appeals in +vain to the gods and to necromancers for aid and absolution. + +What a sick heart the poet must have who would seek out such a story +from the ancient world, appropriate it to himself, and burden himself +with its tragic image! This will explain the following monologue, +so laden with gloom and the despair of life; we recommend it to all +lovers of declamation for serious practice. Hamlet’s monologue is here +intensified. It will take considerable art especially to pick out the +interpolations and yet keep the connection and the flow and smoothness +of the whole. Besides it will be discovered that a certain vehement, +even eccentric, expression is needed in order to do justice to the +intention of the poet.[10] + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[10] The quotation which follows here, translated by Goethe +into German, is Manfred’s speech at the end of act 2, scene 2, +beginning: + + “We are the fools of Time and Terror! Days + Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live, + Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.” + + + + + +BYRON’S _DON JUAN_[11] + +(1821) + + +In hesitating some time ago to insert a passage from [Manzoni’s] +_Count Carmagnola_, a piece which is perhaps translatable, and in the +present instance making the daring attempt to take up and discuss +the untranslatable _Don Juan_, it may seem as if we are guilty of an +inconsistency. We shall therefore point out the difference between +the two cases. Manzoni is as yet but little known among us, and it +is better that people should learn to know his merits first in their +complete fullness, as they are presented only in the original; after +that, a translation by one of our young poets would be decidedly in +order. With Lord Byron’s talent, on the other hand, we are sufficiently +acquainted, and can neither help nor injure him by translation, for the +originals are in the hands of all cultivated people. + +Yet such an attempt, even if it were attempting the impossible, will +always have a certain value. For if a false reflection does not exactly +give back the original picture to us, yet it makes us attentive at +least to the mirror itself and to its more or less perceptible defects. + +_Don Juan_ is a work of infinite genius, misanthropical with the +bitterest inhumanity, yet sympathetic with the deepest intensity of +tender feeling. And since we now know the author and esteem him, and +do not wish him to be otherwise than he is, we enjoy thankfully what he +dares with overgreat independence, indeed insolence, to bring before +us. The technical treatment of the verse is quite in accord with the +singular, reckless, unsparing content. The poet spares his language +as little as he does his men, and as we examine it more closely we +discover indeed that English poetry has a cultivated comic language +which we Germans wholly lack. + +The comic in German lies preëminently in the idea, less in the +treatment or style. We admire Lichtenberg’s abounding wealth; he has +at his command a whole world of knowledge and relations to mix like a +pack of cards and deal them out roguishly at pleasure. With Blumauer +too, whose compositions in verse certainly possess the comic spirit, +it is especially the sharp contrast between old and new, aristocrats +and common people, the noble and the mean, that delights us. If we +examine further we find that the German, in order to be amusing, steps +back several centuries and has the luck to be peculiarly ingenuous and +engaging only in doggerel rhyme. + +In translating _Don Juan_ there are many useful things to be learned +from the Englishman. There is only one joke which we cannot imitate +from him,--one that gets its effect by a singular and dubious accent in +words which look quite differently on paper. The English linguist may +judge how far the poet in this case has wantonly exceeded the proper +limits. + +It is only by chance that the verses inserted here happened to be +translated, and they are now published not as a pattern but for their +suggestiveness. All our talented translators ought to try their +skill at least partly upon them; they will have to permit assonances +and imperfect rhymes and who knows what besides. A certain laconic +treatment will also be necessary, in order to give the full quality and +significance of this audacious mischievousness. Only when something has +been accomplished along these lines, can we discuss the subject further. + +Possibly we may be reproached for spreading in translation such +writings as these through Germany, thus making an honest, peaceful, +decorous nation acquainted with the most immoral works that the art +of poetry ever produced. But according to our way of thinking, these +attempts at translation should not be intended for the press, but may +serve as excellent practice for talented brains. Our poets may then +discreetly apply and cultivate what they acquire in this way, for the +pleasure and delight of their countrymen. No particular injury to +morality is to be feared from the publication of such poems, since +poets and authors would have to cast aside all restraint to be more +corrupting than the papers of the present day. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[11] This paper is preceded by a translation into German verse +of the first five stanzas of _Don Juan_. + + + + +CALDERON’S _DAUGHTER OF THE AIR_ + +(1822) + + “De nugis hominum seria veritas + Uno volvitur assere.” + + +Certainly if any course of human follies, presented in lofty style, is +to be put upon the stage, then this drama should carry off the prize. + +We often allow ourselves to be charmed by the merits of a work of art, +to the extent that the last good thing which has come before us we +consider and discuss as the greatest we have ever seen. Still this does +no harm, for we study such a work then _con amore_ and all the more +closely, and seek to discover its merits, in order that our judgment +may be justified. For this reason I do not hesitate to acknowledge +that in the _Daughter of the Air_ I admire more than ever Calderon’s +great talent, his lofty genius and clear insight. We should not fail +to recognize that the subject is superior to his other plays, in that +the story is based on motives purely human, and there is no more of the +supernatural element than is necessary for the extraordinary and the +exceptional in human affairs to develop and proceed in natural fashion. +Only the beginning and the end are marvelous; everything else proceeds +in a natural course. + +What there is to say of this play is true of all the plays by this +poet. He gives us in no way a real view of nature; he is rather +theatrical throughout, even stagey. Of what we call illusion, +especially such as touches the feelings, we find not a trace. The +design is clear to one’s mind, the scenes follow of necessity, in a +kind of ballet-order, pleasing and artistic in its way, and suggest +the technique of our latest comic opera. The inner leading motives are +always the same,--conflict of duty, passion, conditions derived from +the antithesis of the characters and the existing relations. + +The main action proceeds in a poetic and dignified manner; the minor +scenes, which have an elegant movement, in the style of the minuet, are +rhetorical, dialectical, sophisticated. All the types of humanity are +exhausted; there is not missing even the fool, whose simple mind makes +havoc of deception whenever a pretense is made of sympathy and kindness. + +Now we must admit on reflection that human situations and emotions +cannot be put on the stage in their primitive realism, but must be +worked up, touched up, idealized. And thus we find them in this case, +too; the poet however stands on the threshold of over-refinement, he +gives us a quintessence of humanity. + +Shakespeare on the contrary gives us the rich ripe grape from the vine. +According to our taste we can enjoy the single berries, press them out +and taste or sip the juice or the fermented wine--however we treat them +we are refreshed. With Calderon, on the other hand, nothing is left to +the choice or taste of the spectator; we receive from him the spirits +already drawn off and distilled, seasoned with many spices, or flavored +with sweets; we must accept the beverage as it is, as a delicious and +palatable stimulant, or else refuse it. + +But the reason for our giving the _Daughter of the Air_ so high a +place has already been suggested; it is favored by its excellent +subject-matter. For we object to seeing a noble and free man, as in +several of Calderon’s plays, indulging in dark error and lending his +reason to indiscretions and folly; here we have a quarrel with the poet +himself, since his material offends us, whereas his manner charms. +This is the case in _The Devotion of the Cross_ and in _Daybreak in +Copacabana_. + +In this connection we may say in print what we have often expressed +privately, that we must regard it as one of the greatest advantages of +life that Shakespeare enjoyed, that he was born and brought up as a +Protestant. He appears always as a human being, with a complete faith +and confidence in human values and affairs: error and superstition +he feels to be beneath him, and only toys with them, compelling the +supernatural to serve his purposes. Tragic ghosts, droll goblins he +summons to his ends, in which everything is clarified and cleansed +of superstition, so that the poet never feels the dilemma of being +compelled to deify the absurd, the saddest downfall which mankind, +conscious of possessing reason, can experience. + +Returning to the _Daughter of the Air_, this question suggests +itself: If we are now enabled to transport ourselves to so remote +an atmosphere, without knowing the locality or understanding the +language, to enter familiarly into a foreign literature without +previous historical research, and to bring home to ourselves in one +example the quality and flavor of a certain age, the mind and genius +of a people--to whom do we owe thanks for all this? Evidently to the +translator, who all his life and with laborious industry has thus +utilized his talent to our benefit. Our warmest thanks, therefore, +we present to Dr. Gries; he has given us a gift whose value is +overwhelming, a gift in considering which we gladly refrain from all +comparisons, because it delights us by its clearness, wins us by its +charm, and by the complete harmony of all its parts convinces us that +nothing in it could or should have been different. + +Such excellence older readers are likely to prize more highly, for +they like to enjoy in comfort a perfectly adequate presentation; +younger men, on the contrary, actively engaged in work, coöperating and +struggling, do not always acknowledge merit which they themselves hope +to emulate. + +All honor then to the translator, who concentrated his energies on a +single point, and went ahead in a _single_ direction, so that we could +enjoy in a _thousand_ different ways! + + + + +MOLIÈRE’S _MISANTHROPE_ + +(1828) + + _Histoire de la Vie et des Ouvrages de Molière_, par J. Taschereau. + Paris, 1828. + + +This work deserves to be read carefully by all true lovers of +literature, because it gives us new insight into the qualities and +individuality of a great man. It will also be welcome to his devoted +admirers, although they hardly need this in order to treasure him +highly; to the attentive reader he has revealed himself sufficiently in +his works. + +Examine the _Misanthrope_ carefully and ask yourself whether a poet has +ever represented his inner spirit more completely or more admirably. +We can well call the content and treatment of this play “tragic.” Such +an impression at least it has always left with us, because that mood +is brought before our mind’s eye which often in itself brings us to +despair, and seems as if it would make the world unbearable. + +Here is represented the type of man who despite great cultivation +has yet remained natural, and who with himself, as well as others, +would like only too well to express himself with complete truth and +sincerity. But we see him in conflict with the social world, where one +cannot move without dissimulation and shallowness. + +In contrast to such a type Timon is merely a comic character. I wish +that a talented poet would depict such a visionary who was always +deceiving himself as to the world, and then was greatly put out with +it, as if it had deceived him. + + + + +OLD GERMAN FOLKSONGS + +(1806) + + _Des Knaben Wunderhorn. Old German Songs_, edited by Achim von Arnim + and Klemens Brentano. Heidelberg, 1806. + + +We are decidedly of the opinion that for the present criticism should +not concern itself with this collection. The editors have collected +and arranged this volume with such love and diligence, such good taste +and delicacy of feeling, that their countrymen should first of all +show their gratitude for this loving care by their good-will, their +interest, and their sympathetic appreciation. This little book ought to +be found in every home in which lively and healthy people dwell,--at +the window, under the mirror, or wherever else songbooks and cookbooks +are usually found, so that it may be opened in any happy or unhappy +mood, and one may always find something which strikes a similar or a +new chord, even though one must perhaps turn over a few pages. + +But the most fitting place for this volume would be upon the piano of +a lover or a master of music, so that full justice might be done the +songs by setting them to old familiar tunes, or suitable tunes might be +adapted to them, or, God willing, new and striking melodies might be +composed through their inspiration. + +If these songs were then borne from ear to ear, from mouth to mouth, +clothed in their own melodious harmony, if they gradually returned +regenerated and enhanced in beauty to the people from whom they, so to +speak, have in part sprung, then we might truly say that the little +book had fulfilled its mission, and could now be lost again in its +written or printed form, because it had become part and parcel of the +life and culture of the nation. + +But since in our modern times, especially in Germany, nothing seems +to exist or to have any effect unless it is written about again and +again, adjudged and made a bone of contention, a few remarks may +not improperly be introduced here about this collection,--a few +observations which may not enhance our enjoyment of the book, but at +least will not impair or destroy it. + +What may at the outset be said unreservedly in praise of the collection +is that it is thoroughly varied and characteristic. It contains more +than two hundred poems of the last three centuries, all of them +differing so much from one another in sense, conception, sound, and +manner that the same criticism cannot apply to any two of them. We +shall therefore assume the agreeable task of characterizing [some of] +them in order as the inspiration of the moment may prompt us: + + _The Wunderhorn._ Fairy-like, childlike, pleasing. + + _The Sultan’s Little Daughter._ Tender Christian feeling, charming. + + _Tell and His Child._ Honest and solid. + + _Grandmother Snake-cook._ Deep, enigmatic, dramatic, admirably + handled. + + _Isaiah’s Face._ Barbaric grandeur. + + _Fire Incantation._ Appropriate and true to the spirit of the brigand. + + _Poor Schwartenhals._ Roguish, whimsical, jolly. + + _Death and the Maiden._ After the manner of the Dance of Death; like + a woodcut; admirable. + + _Nocturnal Musicians._ Droll, extravagant, inimitable. + + _The Stubborn Bride._ Humorous, somewhat grotesque. + + _Cloister-shy._ Capriciously confused, yet to the purpose. + + _The Braggart Knight._ Very good in the realistic-romantic manner. + + _The Black-brown Witch._ Rather confused in transmission, but the + theme of inestimable value. + + _Love Without Caste._ Romantic twilight. + + _The Hospitality of Winter._ Written with a great deal of elegance. + + _The High-born Maiden._ Christian pedantry, but not wholly unpoetical. + + _Love Spins no Silk._ Charmingly confused and therefore rousing the + imagination. + + _The Faith of an Hussar._ Swiftness and lightness expressed in a + wonderful way. + + _The Ratcatcher of Hameln._ Tends toward the manner of the + ballad-monger, but not coarse. + + _Tuck Your Dress, Gretlein._ After the manner of vagabond poets; + unexpectedly epigrammatic. + + _The Song of the Ring._ Romantic tenderness. + + _The Knight and the Maiden._ Romantic twilight; powerful. + + _Harvest Song._ A Catholic funeral hymn; good enough to be Protestant! + + _A Surfeit of Learning._ A gallant piece; but the pedant cannot get + rid of his learning. + + _The Fight at Murten._ Realistic, probably modernized. + + _The Haste of Time in God._ Christian, somewhat too historical, but + quite suited to its subject, and very good. + + _Reveille._ Priceless for any one who has the imagination to + understand it. + + _Drought._ Thought, feeling, presentation everywhere right. + + _The Drummer Boy._ Lively presentation of a distressing incident. A + poem which the discriminating will find it difficult to match. + + _Should and Must._ Perfect in plan, although here in a dismembered + and curiously restored condition. + + _A Friendly Service._ German romanticism, pious and pleasing. + + _Cradle Song._ Rhyming nonsense, perfectly suited to put one to sleep. + + _Miller’s Farewell._ To one who can grasp the situation, a priceless + thing; but the first stanza requires an emendation. + + _Abbot Neidhard and His Monks._ A prank of Till Eulenspiegel of the + very best sort, and very well told. + + _The Horrible Marriage._ An extraordinary case; in the + ballad-monger’s manner, but admirably handled. + + _The Excellent Comrade._ Nonsense; but happy the man who can sing it + agreeably! + + _Unrequited Love._ Very good, but tending toward a rather Philistine + prose. + + _The Little Tree._ Full of longing and playfulness, yet full of + fervor. + + _Mésalliance._ Excellent enigmatic fable, but a clearer treatment + might have been more pleasing to the reader. + +With these impromptu characterizations--for how could they be other +than impromptu?--we do not intend to anticipate the judgment of any +readers of the book, and least of all those readers who by their own +lyric enjoyment and the appreciation of a sympathetic heart can get +more from the poems themselves than any brief characterizations like +ours can ever give them. We should like, however, in conclusion to say +something about the value of the collection as a whole. + +We have been accustomed for years to give the name of “folksongs” to +this species of poetry, not because it is really composed by the people +or for the people, but because it embraces in itself something so +vigorous and wholesome that the healthy stock of the nation understands +it, remembers it, appropriates it, and at times propagates it. Poetry +of this kind is as true poetry as can possibly exist. It has an +incredible charm even for us who stand on a higher plane of culture, +just as the sight of young people and the memory of one’s own youth +have for old age. Art in them is in conflict with nature; and it is +because of their gradual development, their mutual influence, and their +striving for form that these songs seem to seek a further perfection +when they have already reached their goal. True poetic genius, wherever +it appears, is perfect in itself: no matter what imperfections of +language, of external technique, or anything else, stand in its way, it +possesses the higher inner form which ultimately has everything at its +command, and often in an obscure and imperfect medium produces a more +striking effect than it can later produce in a more perfect medium. The +vivid poetic perception of a limited state or condition gives to what +is purely individual a universal significance, finite to be sure, but +after all limitless and unrestricted, so that within a small compass we +fancy we see the whole world. The promptings of a profound intuition +urge the poet to a significant brevity; and what would seem in prose +unpardonably topsy-turvy is to the true poetic sense a necessity +and a virtue; even a solecism, if it appeals seriously to our whole +imagination, stimulates it to a surprisingly high degree of enjoyment. + +In characterizing the individual poems we avoided the kind of formal +classification which may more readily be made in the future when +several authentic and typical examples of every kind have been +collected. But we cannot conceal our own preference for those songs +in which lyric, dramatic, and epic treatment is interwoven in such a +way that a problem, at first shrouded in mystery, is finally solved +skilfully, or even, if you will, epigrammatically. The well-known +ballad, “Why dois your brand sae drop wi’ bluid, Edward, Edward?” is, +especially in the original, the most perfect example of this species of +poetry. + +We hope that the editors will be encouraged to publish in the near +future another volume of poems from the rich store collected by them +as well as from those already printed. We trust that when they do +this they will guard themselves carefully against the sing-song of +the Minnesingers, the blatant coarseness and the platitudes of the +Mastersingers, as well as against everything monkish and pedantic. If +they should collect a second volume of these German songs, they might +also be asked to select songs of the same kind from foreign nations +and to give them in the original and in translations that are either +already extant or may be made by them for this special purpose. The +most of these, to be sure, will be from the English, fewer from the +French, some of a different type from the Spanish, and almost none from +the Italian. + +If from the outset we have doubted the competence of criticism, even +in its highest sense, to judge this work, we have all the more reason +to ignore that kind of research which attempts to separate the songs +that are genuine from those that have been more or less restored. The +editors, so far as it is possible in these later times, have caught +the spirit of their task, and we ought to be grateful to them even for +those poems which have been oddly restored or made up of heterogeneous +parts or are absolutely spurious. Who does not know what a song has to +undergo when it has been for some time in the mouth of the people, and +not merely uneducated people either? Why should he who finally writes +it down and inserts it in a collection with other poems not have a +certain personal right to it? We do not possess any poetic or sacred +book of earlier times which has not depended for its final form on the +skill or whim of him who first wrote it down or some later copyist. + +If we accept the printed collection lying before us from this point of +view, and with a grateful and kindly spirit, we may charge the editors +all the more earnestly to keep their poetic archives pure, lofty, and +in good order. It serves no purpose to print everything; but they +will place the whole nation in their debt if they contribute toward +that thorough, faithful, and intelligent history of our poetry and our +poetic culture which from now on must be the ultimate goal of scholars. + + + + +FOLKSONGS AGAIN COMMENDED + +(1823) + + +My old love for original folksongs has not lessened, but has rather +been increased by receiving valuable communications from many quarters. + +In particular, I have received from the East, some separately, and some +in collections, such songs of many different peoples; they extend from +Olympus to the Baltic Sea, and from that line towards the northeast. + +My hesitation in publishing any of them is due partly to the fact that +many varied interests have drawn me here and there and so prevented me, +but also more particularly to the following circumstance. + +All true national poems have a small circle of ideas, to which they are +always limited, and in which they revolve. For that reason they become +monotonous in mass, because they express one and the same limited +situation. + +Examine the six modern Greek songs inserted above; every one will +admire the powerful contrast between the virile freedom of spirit in +the wilderness and a government, orderly indeed, but still barbaric and +of insufficient power. A dozen or more would be sufficient to exhibit +this refractory character in them, and show us repetitions such as we +find in our own folksongs, where we often come upon more or less happy +variations of the same theme, as well as mixed and heterogeneous +fragments. + +It is remarkable, nevertheless, how much the individual peoples +mentioned above differ among themselves in their songs; this +characteristic we shall not discuss abstractly, but will rather develop +by means of examples from time to time in the ensuing numbers. + +Since contributions for this purpose will be highly welcome from all +quarters, we request the friend who showed us at Wiesbaden in the +summer of 1815 some Greek songs in the original and in a very happy +translation, promising to send us soon a copy which never however +appeared, to get in touch with us again and cooperate with us in this +praiseworthy undertaking. + + + + +LAURENCE STERNE + +(1827) + + +In the swift progress of literary, as of human, culture it happens +commonly that we forget the person to whom we owe the first stimulus, +the original influence. What is, and what flourishes here and now, we +believe had to be so and had to happen so. But in this we are wrong, +for we lose sight of those who guided us to the right path. From this +point of view I call attention to a man who first gave the stimulus to +the great epoch in the second half of the last century, an epoch of +clearer human knowledge, nobler toleration, gentler humanity. + +Of this man, to whom I owe so much, I am often reminded, especially +when the talk is of truth and error, which fluctuate here and there +among mankind. A third word may be added of gentler meaning, that is, +“singularity” (_Eigenheit_), for there are certain human phenomena +which can be best expressed by this term. Viewed externally they are +erroneous, but from within full of truth, and rightly considered, of +the highest psychological importance. They are those qualities which +constitute the individual; the universal is thereby specified, and +in the most peculiar of them there always shines some intelligence, +reason, and good-will which charms us and fetters us. From this +standpoint, “Yorick” Sterne, revealing in the tenderest way the human +in men, has called these “singularities,” in so far as they express +themselves in action, “ruling passions.” For certainly they are what +drive men in a certain direction, push them along on a consistent +track, and without requiring reflection, conviction, purpose or +strength of will, keep them continually in life and motion. It is +immediately apparent how closely related habit is to them; for it +promotes that convenience in which our idiosyncrasies love to saunter +undisturbed. + + + + +THE ENGLISH REVIEWERS + +(1821) + + +English critics, as we have come to know them from their various +Reviews, deserve a great deal of respect. Their acquaintance not only +with their own literature, but also with that of other countries, is +most gratifying; the seriousness and the thoroughness with which they +go to work arouse our admiration, and we are glad to confess that much +may be learned from them. Moreover, we find ourselves very favorably +impressed by the attitude these men take toward their calling as +critics and the respect which they have for the intelligence of the +public,--a public, to be sure, which is very attentive to all things +written and spoken, but is probably hard to satisfy, and ever disposed +to contradict and argue. + +No matter how thorough and comprehensive the presentation of a case by +an attorney before a body of judges or by a speaker before a provincial +diet may be, some opponent will very soon come to the fore with +forcible arguments; the attentive and critical hearers will themselves +be divided, and many an important matter is often decided by a very +small majority. + +Such a spirit of opposition, even though passive, we occasionally +assume toward critics, both at home and abroad, whose knowledge of +facts we by no means deny and whose premises we often grant, but whose +conclusions nevertheless we do not share. + +Still we must be especially forbearing to the English when they appear +harsh and unjust toward foreign productions; for those who count +Shakespeare among their forebears may well allow themselves to be +carried away by their pride of ancestry. + + + + +GERMAN LITERATURE IN GOETHE’S YOUTH + +(1811-14) + + +So much has been written about the condition of German literature at +that time,[12] and to such good purpose, that every one who takes any +interest in it can obtain full information; the opinions with regard to +it, too, are fairly unanimous; so that anything I say about it here, +in my fragmentary and desultory fashion, is not so much an analysis +of its characteristics as of its relation to me. I will therefore +first speak of those branches which especially react upon the public, +those two hereditary foes of all easy-going life, and of all cheerful, +self-sufficient, living poetry:--I mean, satire and criticism. + +In quiet times every one desires to live after his own fashion; the +citizen wishes to carry on his trade or his business, and then enjoy +himself; so, too, the author likes to produce something, see his work +published, and, in the consciousness of having done something good and +useful, looks, if not for remuneration, at any rate for praise. From +this state of tranquillity the citizen is roused by the satirist, the +author by the critic, and so it comes that peaceful society is rudely +disturbed. + +The literary epoch in which I was born developed out of the preceding +one by opposition. Germany, so long inundated by foreign people, +pervaded by other nations, employing foreign languages in learned +and diplomatic transactions, could not possibly cultivate her own. +Together with so many new ideas, innumerable strange words were +obtruded necessarily and unnecessarily upon her, and even for objects +already known people were induced to make use of foreign expressions +and turns of language. The Germans, brutalized by nearly two centuries +of misery and confusion, took lessons from the French in manners and +from the Latins in the art of expression. This art ought to have +been cultivated in German, since the use of French and Latin idioms, +and their partial translation into German, made both their social +and business style ridiculous. Besides this, they recklessly adopted +figures of speech belonging to the southern languages, and employed +them most extravagantly. In the same way the stately ceremoniousness of +prince-like Roman citizens had been transferred to the educated circles +in German provincial towns. As a result, they nowhere felt themselves +at home, least of all in their own houses. + +But in this epoch works of genius had already appeared, and the German +independence of mind and enjoyment of life began to assert themselves. +This cheerful spirit, combined with an honest sincerity, led to the +demand for purity and naturalness in writing, without the intermixture +of foreign words, and in accordance with the dictates of plain common +sense. By these praiseworthy endeavors, however, the flood-gates were +thrown open to a prolix national insipidity, nay, the dam was broken +down, and an inundation was bound to follow. However, a stiff pedantry +continued for some time to hold sway in the four learned professions, +and eventually, at a much later date, fled for refuge first to one and +then to another. + +Men of parts, children of nature looking freely about them, had +therefore two objects on which they could exercise their faculties, +against which they could direct their energies, and, as the matter was +of no great importance, vent their mischievousness; these were, on the +one hand, a language disfigured by foreign words, forms, and turns of +speech; and on the other, the worthlessness of such writings as had +been careful to avoid those faults; but it never occurred to any one +that each evil was being combated by fostering the other. + +Liscow, a daring young man, first ventured to attack by name a shallow, +silly writer, whose foolish behavior soon gave him an opportunity for +yet more drastic treatment. He then sought other subjects, invariably +directing his satire against particular objects and persons, whom he +despised and sought to render despicable; indeed, he pursued them +with passionate hatred. But his career was short; for he died early, +and was remembered only as a restless, irregular youth. The talent +and character shown in what he did, in spite of the smallness of his +production, may well have seemed valuable to his countrymen: for the +Germans have always shown a peculiar piety towards the promise of +genius prematurely cut off. Suffice it to say that in our early youth +Liscow was praised and commended to us as an excellent satirist, who +might justly claim preference even before the universally beloved +Rabener. But we did not gain much from him; for the only thing we +discovered from his works was that he considered the absurd absurd, and +this seemed to us a matter of course. + +Rabener, well educated, grown up under good school discipline, of a +cheerful and by no means passionate or malicious disposition, turned +to general satire. His censure of so-called vices and follies is +the outcome of clear-sighted and unimpassioned common sense, and of +a definite moral conception as to what the world ought to be. His +denunciation of faults and failings is harmless and cheerful; and in +order to excuse even the slight daring of his writings, he assumes that +the attempt to improve fools by ridicule is not in vain. + +Rabener’s personal character was such as we do not often meet. A +thorough and strict man of business, he did his duty, and so gained +the good opinion of his fellow-townsmen and the confidence of his +superiors; at the same time, by way of relaxation, he indulged in +a genial contempt for all that immediately surrounded him. Learned +pedants, vain youngsters, every sort of narrowness and conceit, he +made fun of rather than satirized, and even his satire expressed no +scorn. Just in the same way he jested about his own condition, his +unhappiness, his life, and his death. + +There is little of the æsthetic in the manner in which this writer +treats his subjects. In external form he is indeed varied enough, but +throughout he makes too much use of direct irony, that is, in praising +the blameworthy and blaming the praiseworthy, whereas this rhetorical +device should be adopted extremely sparingly; for, in the long run, +it becomes annoying to the clear-sighted, perplexes the foolish, +but appeals, it is true, to the great majority, who without special +intellectual effort imagine themselves cleverer than other people. +But all that he presents to us, whatever its form, bears witness to +his rectitude, cheerfulness, and equanimity, so that we are always +favorably impressed. The unbounded admiration of his own times was a +consequence of these moral excellencies. + +It was natural that people should try to discover originals for his +general descriptions and should succeed; and consequently he was +attacked on this score by certain individuals: his over-long apologies +denying that his satire was personal, prove the annoyance to which he +was subjected. Some of his letters do honor to him both as a man and +an author. The confidential epistle in which he describes the siege +of Dresden and the loss of his house, his effects, his writings, and +his wigs, without having his equanimity in the least shaken or his +cheerfulness clouded, is most estimable, although his contemporaries +and fellow-citizens could not forgive him his happy temperament. The +letter in which he speaks of the decay of his strength and of his +approaching death is in the highest degree worthy of respect, and +Rabener deserves to be honored as a saint by all happy sensible people, +who cheerfully accept their earthly lot. + +I tear myself away from him reluctantly, and merely add this remark: +his satire refers throughout to the middle classes; he lets us see here +and there that he is also acquainted with the upper classes, but does +not hold it advisable to discuss them. It may be said that he had no +successor; it would be impossible to point to any one at all equal, or +even similar to him. + +Let us turn to criticism; and first of all to the theoretic attempts. +It is not going too far to say that idealism had at that time fled from +the world to religion; it was hardly discoverable even in ethics; of +a supreme principle in art no one had a notion. They put Gottsched’s +_Critical Art of Poetry_ into our hands; it was useful and instructive +enough, for it gave us historical information about the various kinds +of poetry, as well as about rhythm and its different movements; +poetic genius was taken for granted! But besides this the poet was to +have education, and even learning, he should possess taste, and other +things of the same nature. Finally, we were referred to Horace’s _Art +of Poetry_; we gazed at single golden maxims of this invaluable work +with veneration, but did not know in the least what to do with it as a +whole, or how to use it. + +The Swiss came to the front as Gottsched’s antagonists; hence they +must intend to do something different, to accomplish something better: +accordingly we heard that they were, in fact, superior. Breitinger’s +_Critical Art of Poetry_ was now studied. Here we entered a wider +field, or, properly speaking, only a greater labyrinth, which was the +more wearisome, as an able man in whom we had confidence drove us about +in it. Let a brief review justify these words. + +As yet no one had been able to discover the essential principle of +poetry; it was too spiritual and too evanescent. Painting, an art +which one could keep within sight, and follow step by step with the +external senses, seemed more adapted to such an end; the English and +French had already theorized about the arts of painting and sculpture, +and it was thought possible to explain the nature of poetry by drawing +a comparison from these arts. Painting presented images to the eyes, +poetry to the imagination; poetical images, therefore, were the +first thing to be taken into consideration. Similes came first, then +descriptions and whatever it was possible to represent to the external +senses came under discussion. + +Images, then! But whence should these images be taken except from +nature? The painter obviously imitated nature; why not the poet also? +But nature, just as she is, cannot be imitated: she contains so much +that is insignificant and unsuitable, that a selection must be made; +but what determines the choice? what is important must be selected; but +what is important? + +The answer to this question the Swiss probably took a long time +to consider: for they arrived at an idea which is indeed strange, +but pretty, even amusing; for they said what is new is always most +important: and after they had considered this for a while, they +discovered that the marvelous is always newer than anything else. + +Apparently they now had the essentials of poetry before them, but it +had further to be taken into consideration that the marvelous may +be barren and without human interest. This human interest which is +indispensable must be moral, and would then obviously tend to the +improvement of man; hence that poem would fulfil its ultimate aim which +in addition to its merits possessed utility. It was the fulfilment of +all these demands which constituted the test they wished to apply to +the various kinds of poetry, and that species which imitated nature, +and furthermore was marvelous, and at the same time moral in purpose +and effect, they placed first and highest. And after much deliberation +this great preëminence was finally ascribed, with the utmost +conviction, to Æsop’s fables! + +Strange as such a deduction may now appear, it had the most decided +influence on the best minds. That Gellert and subsequently Lichtwer +devoted themselves to this department of literature, that even Lessing +attempted to do work in it, that so many others applied their talents +to it, speaks for the faith they put in this species of poetry. Theory +and practice always act upon each other; one can see from men’s works +what opinions they hold; and, from their opinions, it is possible to +predict what they will do. + +Yet we must not dismiss our Swiss theory without doing it justice. +Bodmer, with all the pains he took, remained in theory and practice a +child all his life. Breitinger was an able, learned, sagacious man, +who, after making a careful survey, recognized all the requirements +to be fulfilled by a poem; in fact, it can be shown that he was dimly +conscious of the deficiencies of his method. Noteworthy, for instance, +is his query, whether a certain descriptive poem by König, on the +_Review Camp of Augustus the Second_, is properly speaking a poem; +and the answer to it displays good sense. But it may serve for his +complete justification that, after starting on a wrong track and nearly +completing his circle, he yet discovers the main issue, and at the end +of his book, as a kind of supplement, feels it incumbent on him to urge +the representation of manners, character, passions, in short the inner +man--which surely constitutes the chief theme of poetry. + +It may well be imagined into what perplexity young minds were thrown by +such maxims torn from their contexts, half-understood laws, and random +dogmas. We clung to examples, and there, too, were no better off: the +foreign as well as the classical ones were too remote from us; behind +the best native ones always lurked a distinct individuality, the good +points of which we could not arrogate to ourselves, and into the faults +of which we could not but be afraid of falling. For any one conscious +of productive power it was a desperate condition. + +When one considers carefully what was wanting in German poetry, it +was a significant theme, especially of national import; there was +never any lack of gifted writers. It is only necessary to mention +Günther, who may be called a poet in the full sense of the word. A +decided genius, endowed with sensuousness, imagination, memory, the +gifts of conception and representation, productive in the highest +degree, possessing rhythmic fluency, ingenious, witty, and at the same +time well-informed;--he possessed, in short, all the requisites for +creating by his poetry a second life out of the actual commonplace life +around him. We admire the great facility with which, in his occasional +poems, he ennobles all situations by appealing to the emotions, and +embellishes them with suitable sentiments, images, and historical and +fabulous traditions. The roughness and wildness in them belong to his +time, his mode of life, and especially to his character, or, if you +will, his want of character. He did not know how to curb himself, and +so his life, like his poetry, proved ineffectual. + +By his vacillating conduct, Günther had trifled away the good fortune +of being appointed at the Court of Augustus the Second, where, with +their love of magnificence, they desired to find a laureate who would +impart warmth and grace to their festivities, and immortalize a +transitory pomp. Von König was more self-controlled and more fortunate; +he filled this post with dignity and success. + +In all sovereign states the material for poetry begins with the highest +social ranks, and the _Review Camp at Mühlberg_ was, perhaps, the +first worthy subject of provincial, if not of national importance which +presented itself to a poet. Two kings saluting one another in the +presence of a great host, their whole court and military state around +them, well-appointed troops, a sham-fight, _fêtes_ of all kinds,--here +was plenty to captivate the senses, and matter enough and to spare for +descriptive poetry. + +This subject, indeed, suffered from an inner defect, in that it was +only pomp and show, from which no real action could result. None except +the very highest were involved, and even if this had not been the case, +the poet could not render any one conspicuous lest he should offend +the others. He had to consult the _Court and State Calendar_, and the +delineation of the persons was therefore not particularly exciting; +nay, even his contemporaries reproached him with having described the +horses better than the men. But should not the fact that he showed +his art as soon as a fitting subject presented itself redound to his +credit? The main difficulty, too, seems soon to have become apparent to +him--for the poem never advanced beyond the first canto. + +As a result of discussions, examples, and my own reflection, I came +to see that the first step towards escape from the wishy-washy, +long-winded, empty epoch could be taken only by definiteness, +precision, and brevity. In the style which had hitherto prevailed, +it was impossible to distinguish the commonplace from what was +better, since a uniform insipidity prevailed on all hands. Authors +had already tried to escape from this widespread disease, with more +or less success. Haller and Ramler were inclined to compression by +nature; Lessing and Wieland were led to it by reflection. The former +became by degrees quite epigrammatic in his poems, terse in _Minna_, +laconic in _Emilia Galotti_,--it was not till later that he returned +to that serene _naïveté_ which becomes him so well in _Nathan_. +Wieland, who had been occasionally prolix in _Agathon_, _Don Sylvio_, +and the _Comic Tales_, became wonderfully condensed and precise, as +well as exceedingly graceful, in _Musarion_ and _Idris_. Klopstock, +in the first cantos of the _Messiah_, is not without diffuseness; in +his _Odes_ and other minor poems he appears concise, as also in his +tragedies. By his emulation of the ancients, especially Tacitus, he +was constantly forced into narrower limits, so that at last he became +obscure and unpleasing. Gerstenberg, a rare but eccentric genius, also +concentrated his powers; one feels his merit, but on the whole he gives +little pleasure. Gleim, by nature diffuse and easy-going, was scarcely +once concise in his war-songs. Ramler was properly more of a critic +than a poet. He began to collect what the Germans had accomplished in +lyric poetry. He discovered that scarcely one poem entirely satisfied +him; he was obliged to omit, rearrange, and alter, so that the things +might assume some sort of form. By this means he made himself almost as +many enemies as there are poets and amateurs, since every one, properly +speaking, recognizes himself only in his defects; and the public takes +greater interest in a faulty individuality than in what is produced or +amended in accordance with a universal law of taste. Rhythm was still +in its cradle, and no one knew of a method to shorten its childhood. +Poetical prose was gaining ground. Gessner and Klopstock found many +imitators; others, again, still put in a plea for metre, and translated +this prose into intelligible rhythms. But even these emended versions +gave nobody satisfaction; for they were obliged to omit and add, and +the prose original always passed for the better of the two. But in all +these attempts, the greater the conciseness aimed at, the more possible +is it to criticize them, since whatever is significant when presented +in a condensed form, in the end admits of definite comparison. Another +result was the simultaneous appearance of a number of truly poetical +forms; for while attempting to reproduce solely whatever was essential +in any one subject, it was necessary to do justice to every subject +chosen for treatment, and hence, though none did it consciously, the +modes of representation were multiplied; though some were grotesque +enough, and many an experiment proved unsuccessful. + +Without question, Wieland possessed the finest natural gifts of all. +He had developed early in those ideal regions in which youth loves +to linger; but when so-called experience, contact with the world and +women, spoilt his delight in those realms, he turned to the actual, and +derived pleasure for himself and others from the conflict between the +two worlds, where, in light encounters, half in earnest, half in jest, +his talent found fullest scope. How many of his brilliant productions +appeared during my student days! _Musarion_ had the greatest effect +upon me, and I can yet remember the place and the very spot where I +looked at the first proof-sheet, which Oeser showed me. It was here +that I seemed to see antiquity living anew before me. Everything that +is plastic in Wieland’s genius showed itself here in the highest +perfection; and since the Timon-like hero Phanias, after being +condemned to unhappy abstinence, is finally reconciled to his mistress +and to the world, we may be content to live through the misanthropic +epoch with him. For the rest, we were not sorry to recognize in these +works a cheerful aversion to exalted sentiments, which are apt to be +wrongly applied to life, and then frequently fall under the suspicion +of fanaticism. We pardoned the author for pursuing with ridicule what +we held to be true and venerable, the more readily, as he thereby +showed that he was unable to disregard it. + +What a miserable reception was accorded such efforts by the criticism +of the time may be seen from the first volumes of the _Universal German +Library_. Honorable mention is made there of the _Comic Tales_, but +there is no trace of any insight into the character of the literary +species. The reviewer, like every one at that time, had formed +his taste on examples. He never takes into consideration that in +criticizing such parodistical works, it is necessary first of all to +have the noble, beautiful original before one’s eyes, in order to see +whether the parodist has really discovered in it a weak and comical +side, whether he has borrowed anything from it, or whether, under the +pretense of imitation, he has given us an excellent invention of his +own. Of all this there is not a word, but isolated passages in the +poems are praised or blamed. The reviewer, as he himself confesses, has +marked so much that pleased him, that he cannot quote it all in print. +When they go so far as to greet the exceedingly meritorious translation +of Shakespeare with the exclamation: “By rights, a man like Shakespeare +should not have been translated at all!” it will be understood, without +further remark, how immeasurably the _Universal German Library_ was +behindhand in matters of taste, and that young people, animated by true +feelings, had to look about them for other guiding stars. + +The subject-matter which in this manner more or less determined the +form was sought by the Germans in the most varied quarters. They had +handled few national subjects, or none at all. Schlegel’s _Hermann_ +only pointed the way. The idyllic tendency had immense vogue. The +want of distinctive character in Gessner, with all his gracefulness +and childlike sincerity, made every one think himself capable of the +like. In the same manner, those poems which were intended to portray +a foreign nationality were founded merely on a common humanity, as, +for instance, the _Jewish Pastoral Poems_, all those on patriarchal +subjects, and any others based on the Old Testament. Bodmer’s +_Noachide_ was a perfect type of the watery deluge that swelled high +around the German Parnassus, and abated but slowly. Anacreontic +dallyings likewise made it possible for numberless mediocre writers +to meander aimlessly in a vague prolixity. The precision of Horace +compelled the Germans, though but slowly, to conform to him. Neither +did the burlesques, modeled, for the most part, on Pope’s _Rape of the +Lock_, succeed in inaugurating better times. + +Yet I must here mention a delusion, which was taken as seriously +as it appears ridiculous on closer inspection. The Germans had now +an adequate historical knowledge of all the kinds of poetry in +which the various nations had excelled. This assignment of poetry +to its respective pigeon-holes--a process in reality fatal to its +true spirit--had been accomplished with approximate completeness by +Gottsched in his _Critical Art of Poetry_, and at the same time he +had shown that in all the divisions were to be found excellent works +by German poets. And so it went on. Every year the collection became +more considerable, but every year one work ousted some other from the +place in which it had hitherto shone. We now possessed, if not Homers, +yet Virgils and Miltons; if not a Pindar, yet a Horace; of Theocrituses +there was no lack; and thus they soothed themselves by comparisons from +abroad, whilst the mass of poetical works constantly increased, so that +at last it was possible to make comparisons at home. + +With the cultivation of the German language and style in every +department, the power of criticism also increased; but while the +reviews then published of works upon religious and ethical as well +as medical subjects were admirable, the critiques of poems, and of +whatever else relates to _belles lettres_, will be found, if not +pitiful, at least very feeble. This holds good of the _Literary +Epistles_ and the _Universal German Library_, as well as of the +_Library of Belles Lettres_, and might easily be verified by notable +instances. + +However great the confusion of these varied efforts, the only thing to +be done by any one who contemplated producing anything original, and +was not content to take the words and phrases out of the mouths of his +predecessors, was to search unremittingly for some subject-matter for +treatment. Here, too, we were greatly misled. People were constantly +repeating a saying of Kleist’s, who had replied playfully, with humor +and truth, to those who took him to task on account of his frequently +lonely walks: “that he was not idle at such times--he was hunting for +images.” This simile was very suitable for a nobleman and soldier, for +in it he contrasted himself with men of his own rank, who never missed +an opportunity of going out, with their guns on their shoulders, to +shoot hares and partridges. Accordingly we find in Kleist’s poems many +such individual images, happily seized, although not always happily +elaborated, which remind us pleasantly of nature. But now we, too, were +admonished quite seriously to go out hunting for images, and in the +end to some slight purpose, although Apel’s Garden, the Cake Gardens, +the Rosental, Gohlis, Raschwitz and Konnewitz, were the oddest ground +in which to beat up poetical game. And yet I was often induced from +this motive to contrive that my walk should be solitary. But few either +beautiful or sublime objects met the eye of the beholder, and in the +truly splendid Rosental the gnats in summer made all gentle thoughts +impossible, so by dint of unwearied, persevering endeavor, I became +extremely attentive to the small life of nature (I should like to use +this word after the analogy of “still life”). Since the charming little +incidents to be observed within this circle are but unimportant in +themselves, I accustomed myself to see in them a significance, tending +now towards the symbolical and now towards the allegorical, according +as intuition, feeling, or reflection predominated. + +Whilst I was playing the part of shepherd on the Pleisse, and was +childishly absorbed in such tender subjects, always choosing such only +as I could easily recapture and lock in my heart, greater and more +important themes had long before been provided for German poets. + +It was Frederick the Great and the events of the Seven Years’ War +which first gave to German literature a real and noble vitality. All +national poetry cannot fail to be insipid, or inevitably becomes so, +if it is not based on the man who stands first among men, upon the +experiences which come to the nations and their leaders, when both +stand together as one man. Kings should be represented in the midst of +warfare and danger, for there they are made to appear the highest, just +because the fate of the lowest depends upon them and is shared by them. +In this way they become far more interesting than the gods themselves, +who, when they have decided the destinies of men, do not share them. +In this sense every nation that wishes to count for anything ought to +possess an epic, though not necessarily in the form of an epic poem. + +The war-songs first sung by Gleim deserve their high place in German +poetry, because they were the outcome of and contemporary with the +events they celebrate; and furthermore, because the felicitous form, +suggestive of a combatant’s utterance in the thick of the fray, +impresses us with its absolute effectiveness. + +Ramler sings in different but dignified strains the exploits of his +king. All his poems are thoughtful, and fill our minds with great and +elevating subjects, and on that account alone possess an indestructible +value. + +For the significance of the subject treated of is the Alpha and +Omega of art. Of course, no one will deny that genius, or cultivated +artistic talent, can by its method of treatment make anything out of +anything, and render the most refractory subject amenable. But on close +inspection the result is rather an artistic feat than a work of art, +which latter should be based on a fitting subject, so that in the end +the skill, the care, the diligence of the artist’s treatment only +brings out the dignity of the subject in greater attractiveness and +splendor. + +Prussians, and with them Protestant Germany, therefore gained a +treasure-trove for their literature, which was lacking to the other +party, who have not been able to repair the deficiency by subsequent +efforts. In the high idea which they cherished of their King, the +Prussian writers first found inspiration, and fostered it all the more +zealously because he in whose name they did everything would have +nothing whatever to say to them. French civilization had been widely +introduced into Prussia at an earlier date by the French colony, and +again later by the King’s preference for French culture and French +financial methods. The effect of this French influence was to rouse the +Germans to antagonism and resistance--a result decidedly beneficial in +its operation. Equally fortunate for the development of literature was +Frederick’s antipathy to German. They did everything to attract the +King’s attention, not indeed to be honored, but only to be noticed by +him; yet they did it in German fashion, from inner conviction; they +did what they held to be right, and desired and wished that the King +should recognize and prize this as right. That did not and could not +happen; for how can it be expected that a king, who wishes to live and +enjoy himself intellectually, should waste his years waiting to see +what he thinks barbarous developed and rendered enjoyable too late? In +matters of trade and manufacture, it is true, he pressed upon himself, +but especially upon his people, very mediocre substitutes instead of +excellent foreign wares; but in this department of life everything is +perfected more rapidly, and it does not take a man’s life-time to bring +such things to maturity. + +But I must here, first of all, make honorable mention of one work, the +most genuine product of the Seven Years’ War, altogether North German +in its national sentiment; it is the first dramatic work founded upon +important events of specific contemporary value, and therefore produced +an incalculable effect--_Minna von Barnhelm_. Lessing, who, unlike +Klopstock and Gleim, was fond of laying aside his personal dignity, +because he was confident that he could resume it at any moment, +delighted in a dissipated, worldly life and the society of taverns, as +he always needed some strong external excitement to counterbalance his +exuberant intellectual activity; and for this reason also he had joined +the suite of General Tauentzien. It is easy to see how this drama was +generated betwixt war and peace, hatred and affection. It was this +production which successfully opened to the literary and middle-class +world, in which poetic art had hitherto moved, a view into a higher, +more significant world. + +The hostile relations in which Prussians and Saxons had stood towards +each other during this war, could not be removed by its termination. +The Saxon now felt for the first time the whole bitterness of the +wounds which the upstart Prussian had inflicted upon him. Political +peace could not immediately reëstablish a peace between their hearts. +But the establishment of this peace was represented symbolically in +Lessing’s drama. The grace and amiability of the Saxon ladies conquer +the worth, the dignity, and the stubbornness of the Prussians, and, in +the principal as well as in the subordinate characters, a happy union +of bizarre and contradictory elements is artistically represented. + +If I have caused my readers some bewilderment by these cursory and +desultory remarks on German literature, I have succeeded in giving +them a conception of the chaotic condition of my poor brain at a time +when, in the conflict of two epochs so important for the national +literature, so much that was new crowded in upon me before I could come +to terms with the old, so much that was old still maintained its hold +upon me, though I already believed I might with good reason renounce it +altogether. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[12] About 1765-68. + + + + +EXTRACTS FROM GOETHE’S CONVERSATIONS WITH ECKERMANN + + + + +EXTRACTS FROM THE CONVERSATIONS WITH ECKERMANN + +(1822-32) + + +_The Universality of Poetry_ + +Within the last few days I have read many and various things; +especially a Chinese novel, which occupies me still, and seems to me +very remarkable. The Chinese think, act, and feel almost exactly like +ourselves; and we soon find that we are perfectly like them, excepting +that all they do is more clear, more pure and decorous than with us. + +With them all is orderly, simple, without great passion or poetic +flight; and there is a strong resemblance to my _Hermann and Dorothea_, +as well as to the English novels of Richardson. They differ from us, +however, inasmuch as with them external nature is always associated +with human figures. You always hear the goldfish splashing in the +pond, the birds are always singing on the bough, the day is always +serene and sunny, the night is always clear. There is much talk about +the moon, but it does not alter the landscape, its light is conceived +to be as bright as day itself; and the interior of the houses is as +neat and elegant as their pictures. For instance, “I heard the lovely +girls laughing, and when I got a sight of them, they were sitting on +cane chairs.” There you have, at once, the prettiest situation; for +cane chairs are necessarily associated with the greatest lightness +and elegance. Then there is an infinite number of legends which are +constantly introduced into the narrative, and are applied almost +like proverbs; as, for instance, one of a girl, who was so light and +graceful on her feet that she could balance herself on a flower without +breaking it; and then another, of a young man so virtuous and brave +that in his thirtieth year he had the honor to talk with the Emperor; +then there is another of two lovers who showed such great purity +during a long acquaintance that when they were on one occasion obliged +to pass the night in the same chamber, they occupied the time with +conversation, and did not approach one another. + +And in the same way, there are innumerable other legends, all turning +upon what is moral and proper. It is by this severe moderation in +everything that the Chinese Empire has sustained itself for thousands +of years, and will endure hereafter. + +I am more and more convinced that poetry is the universal possession +of mankind, revealing itself everywhere, and at all times, in hundreds +and hundreds of men. One makes it a little better than another, and +swims on the surface a little longer than another--that is all. Herr +von Matthisson must not think he is the man, nor must I think that I +am the man; but each must say to himself that the gift of poetry is by +no means so very rare, and that nobody need think very much of himself +because he has written a good poem. + +But, really, we Germans are very likely to fall too easily into this +pedantic conceit, when we do not look beyond the narrow circle which +surrounds us. I therefore like to look about me in foreign nations, and +advise every one to do the same. National literature is now rather an +unmeaning term; the epoch of World Literature is at hand, and every +one must strive to hasten its approach. But, while we thus value what +is foreign, we must not bind ourselves to anything in particular, and +regard it as a model. We must not give this value to the Chinese, or +the Servian, or Calderon, or the Nibelungen; but if we really want a +pattern, we must always return to the ancient Greeks, in whose works +the beauty of mankind is constantly represented. All the rest we must +look at only historically, appropriating to ourselves what is good, so +far as it goes. + + +_Poetry and Patriotism_[13] + +To write military songs, and sit in a room! That would have suited me! +To have written them in the bivouac, when the horses at the enemy’s +outposts are heard neighing at night, would have been well enough; +however, that was not my life and not my business, but that of Theodor +Körner. His war-songs suit him perfectly. But to me, who am not of a +warlike nature, and who have no warlike sense, war-songs would have +been a mask which would have fitted my face very badly. + +I have never affected anything in my poetry. I have never uttered +anything which I have not experienced, and which has not urged me to +production. I have only composed love-songs when I have loved. How +could I write songs of hatred without hating! And, between ourselves, +I did not hate the French, although I thanked God that we were free +from them. How could I, to whom culture and barbarism are alone of +importance, hate a nation which is among the most cultivated of the +earth, and to which I owe so great a part of my own culture? + +Altogether, national hatred is something peculiar. You will always +find it strongest and most violent where there is the lowest degree of +culture. But there is a degree where it vanishes altogether, and where +one stands to a certain extent _above_ nations, and feels the weal +or woe of a neighboring people, as if it had happened to one’s own. +This degree of culture was conformable to my nature, and I had become +strengthened in it long before I had reached my sixtieth year. + + * * * * * + +It is better for us moderns to say with Napoleon, “Politics are +Destiny.” But let us beware of saying, with our latest literati, that +politics are poetry, or a suitable subject for the poet. The English +poet Thomson wrote a very good poem on the Seasons, but a very bad one +on Liberty, and that not from want of poetry in the poet, but from want +of poetry in the subject. + +If a poet would work politically, he must give himself up to a party; +and so soon as he does that he is lost as a poet; he must bid farewell +to his free spirit, his unbiased view, and draw over his ears the cap +of bigotry and blind hatred. + +The poet, as a man and citizen, will love his native land; but the +native land of his _poetic_ powers and poetic action is the good, +noble, and beautiful, which is confined to no particular province or +country, and which he seizes upon and forms wherever he finds it. +Therein is he like the eagle, who hovers with free gaze over whole +countries, and to whom it is of no consequence whether the hare on +which he pounces is running in Prussia or in Saxony. + +And, then, what is meant by love of one’s country? what is meant by +patriotic deeds? If the poet has employed a life in battling with +pernicious prejudices, in setting aside narrow views, in enlightening +the minds, purifying the tastes, ennobling the feelings and thoughts of +his countrymen, what better could he have done? how could he have acted +more patriotically? + + +_Poetry and History_ + +Manzoni wants nothing except to know what a good poet he is, and what +rights belong to him as such. He has too much respect for history, +and on this account always adds explanations to his pieces, in which +he shows how faithful he has been to detail. Now, though his facts +may be historical, his characters are not so, any more than my Thoas +and Iphigenia. No poet has ever known the historical characters which +he has painted; if he had, he could scarcely have made use of them. +The poet must know what effects he wishes to produce, and regulate +the nature of his characters accordingly. If I had tried to make +Egmont as history represents him, the father of a dozen children, his +light-minded proceedings would have appeared very absurd. I needed an +Egmont more in harmony with his own actions and my poetic views; and +this is, as Clara says, _my_ Egmont. + +What would be the use of poets, if they only repeated the record of +the historian? The poet must go further, and give us, if possible, +something higher and better. All the characters of Sophocles bear +something of that great poet’s lofty soul; and it is the same with the +characters of Shakespeare. This is as it ought to be. Nay, Shakespeare +goes farther, and makes his Romans Englishmen; and there, too, he is +right; for otherwise his nation would not have understood him. + +Here again the Greeks were so great that they regarded fidelity to +historic facts less than the treatment of them by the poet. We have +a fine example in Philoctetes, which subject has been treated by all +three of the great tragic poets, and lastly and best by Sophocles. This +poet’s excellent play has, fortunately, come down to us entire, while +of the Philoctetes of Æschylus and Euripides only fragments have been +found, although sufficient to show how they have managed the subject. +If time permitted, I would restore these pieces, as I did the Phäeton +of Euripides; it would be to me no unpleasant or useless task. + +In this subject the problem was very simple, namely, to bring +Philoctetes, with his bow, from the island of Lemnos. But the manner +of doing this was the business of the poet, and here each could show +the power of his invention, and one could excel another. Ulysses must +fetch him; but shall he be recognized by Philoctetes or not? and if +not, how shall he be disguised? Shall Ulysses go alone, or shall he +have companions, and who shall they be? In Æschylus the companion is +unknown; in Euripides, it is Diomed; in Sophocles, the son of Achilles. +Then, in what situation is Philoctetes to be found? Shall the island be +inhabited or not? and, if inhabited, shall any sympathetic soul have +taken compassion on him or not? And so with a hundred other things, +which are all at the discretion of the poet, and in the selection and +omission of which one may show his superiority in wisdom to another. +This is the important point, and the poets of to-day should do like the +ancients. They should not be always asking whether a subject has been +used before, and look to south and north for unheard-of adventures, +which are often barbarous enough, and merely make an impression as +incidents. But to make something of a simple subject by a masterly +treatment requires intellect and great talent, and these we do not find. + + +_Originality_ + +The Germans cannot cease to be Philistines. They are now squabbling +about some distichs, which are printed both in Schiller’s works and +mine, and fancy it is important to ascertain which really belong to +Schiller and which to me; as if anything could be gained by such +investigation--as if the existence of such things were not enough. +Friends like Schiller and myself, intimate for years, with the same +interests, in habits of daily intercourse, and under reciprocal +obligations, live so completely in one another that it is hardly +possible to decide to which of the two the particular thoughts belong. + +We have made many distichs together; sometimes I gave the thought, and +Schiller made the verse; sometimes the contrary was the case; sometimes +he made one line, and I the other. What matters the mine and thine? +One must be a thorough Philistine, indeed, to attach the slightest +importance to the solution of such questions. + +We are indeed born with faculties; but we owe our development to a +thousand influences of the great world, from which we appropriate to +ourselves what we can, and what is suitable to us. I owe much to the +Greeks and French; I am infinitely indebted to Shakespeare, Sterne, +and Goldsmith; but in saying this I do not exhaust the sources of my +culture; that would be an endless as well as an unnecessary task. +We might as well question a strong man about the oxen, sheep, and +swine which he has eaten, and which have given him strength. What is +important is to have a soul which loves truth, and receives it wherever +it finds it. + +Besides, the world is now so old, so many eminent men have lived +and thought for thousands of years, that there is little new to be +discovered or expressed. Even my theory of colors is not entirely new. +Plato, Leonardo da Vinci, and many other excellent men, have before +me found and expressed the same thing in a detached form: my merit is +that I have found it also, that I have said it again, and that I have +striven to bring the truth once more into a confused world. + +The truth must be repeated over and over again, because error is +repeatedly preached among us, not only by individuals, but by the +masses. In periodicals and cyclopedias, in schools and universities, +everywhere, in fact, error prevails, and is quite easy in the feeling +that it has a decided majority on its side. + + * * * * * + +People are always talking about originality; but what do they mean? As +soon as we are born, the world begins to work upon us, and this goes +on to the end. And, after all, what can we call our own except energy, +strength, and will? If I could give an account of all that I owe to +great predecessors and contemporaries, there would be but a small +balance in my favor. + +However, the time of life in which we are subjected to a new and +important personal influence is, by no means, a matter of indifference. +That Lessing, Winckelmann, and Kant were older than I, and that the +first two acted upon my youth, the latter on my advanced age,--this +circumstance was for me very important. Again, that Schiller was so +much younger than I, and engaged in his freshest strivings just as I +began to be weary of the world--just, too, as the brothers von Humboldt +and Schlegel were beginning their career under my eye--was of the +greatest importance. I derived from it unspeakable advantages. + +What seduces young people is this. We live in a time in which so much +culture is diffused that it has communicated itself, as it were, to +the atmosphere which a young man breathes. Poetical and philosophic +thoughts live and move within him, he has sucked them in with his very +breath, but he thinks they are his own property, and utters them as +such. But after he has restored to the time what he has received from +it, he remains poor. He is like a fountain which plays for a while with +the water with which it is supplied, but which ceases to flow as soon +as the liquid treasure is exhausted. + + * * * * * + +The critic of _Le Temps_ has not been so wise. He presumes to point +out to the poet the way he should go. This is a great fault; for one +cannot thus make him better. After all, there is nothing more foolish +than to say to a poet: “You should have done this in this way--and that +in that.” I speak from long experience. One can never make anything +of a poet but what nature has intended him to be. If you force him to +be another, you will destroy him. Now, the gentlemen of the _Globe_, +as I said before, act very wisely. They print a long list of all the +commonplaces which M. Arnault has picked up from every hole and corner; +and by doing this they very cleverly point out the rock which the +author has to avoid in future. It is almost impossible, in the present +day, to find a situation which is thoroughly new. It is merely the +manner of looking at it, and the art of treating and representing it, +which can be new, and one must be the more cautious of every imitation. + + +_Personality in Art_ + +You have before you the works of very fair talents, who have learned +something, and have acquired no little taste and art. Still, something +is wanting in all these pictures--the _Manly_. Take notice of this +word, and underscore it. The pictures lack a certain urgent power, +which in former ages was generally expressed, but in which the present +age is deficient, and that with respect not only to painting, but to +all the other arts. We have a more weakly race, of which we cannot say +whether it is so by its origin, or by a more weakly training and diet. + +Personality is everything in art and poetry; nevertheless, there are +many weak personages among the modern critics who do not admit this, +but look upon a great personality in a work of poetry or art merely as +a kind of trifling appendage. + +However, to feel and respect a great personality one must be something +oneself. All those who denied the sublime to Euripides were either +poor wretches incapable of comprehending such sublimity, or shameless +charlatans, who, by their presumption, wished to make more of +themselves, and really did make more of themselves than they were. + + +_The Subject-Matter of Poetry_ + +The world is so great and rich, and life so full of variety, that you +can never want occasions for poems. But they must all be occasional +poems; that is to say, reality must give both impulse and material for +their production. A particular case becomes universal and poetic by +the very circumstance that it is treated by a poet. All my poems are +occasional poems, suggested by real life, and having therein a firm +foundation. I attach no value to poems snatched out of the air. + +Let no one say that reality wants poetical interest; for in this the +poet proves his vocation, that he has the art to win from a common +subject an interesting side. Reality must give the motive, the points +to be expressed, the kernel, as I may say; but to work out of it a +beautiful, animated whole, belongs to the poet. You know Fürnstein, +called the Poet of Nature; he has written the prettiest poem possible +on the cultivation of hops. I have now proposed to him to make songs +for the different crafts of working-men, particularly a weaver’s +song, and I am sure he will do it well, for he has lived among such +people from his youth; he understands the subjects thoroughly, and +is therefore master of his material. That is exactly the advantage +of small works; you need only choose those subjects of which you are +master. With a great poem, this cannot be: no part can be evaded; +all which belongs to the animation of the whole, and is interwoven +into the plan, must be represented with precision. In youth, however, +the knowledge of things is only one-sided. A great work requires +many-sidedness, and on that rock the young author splits. + + * * * * * + +I especially warn you against great inventions of your own; for then +you would try to give a view of things, and for that purpose youth is +seldom ripe. Further, character and views detach themselves as sides +from the poet’s mind, and deprive him of the fullness requisite for +future productions. And, finally, how much time is lost in invention, +internal arrangement, and combination, for which nobody thanks us, even +supposing our work is happily accomplished. + +With a _given_ material, on the other hand, all goes easier and better. +Facts and characters being provided, the poet has only the task of +animating the whole. He preserves his own fullness, for he needs to +part with but little of himself, and there is much less loss of time +and energy, since he has only the trouble of execution. Indeed, I would +advise the choice of subjects which have been worked before. How many +Iphigenias have been written! yet they are all different, for each +writer considers and arranges the subject differently; namely, after +his own fashion. + + * * * * * + +The majority of our young poets have no fault but this, that their +subjectivity is not important, and that they cannot find matter in +the objective. At best, they only find a material which is similar to +themselves, which corresponds to their own subjectivity; but as for +taking the material on its own account; merely because it is poetical, +even when it is repugnant to their subjectivity, such a thing is never +thought of. + + * * * * * + +Our German æstheticians are always talking about poetical and +unpoetical objects; and, in one respect, they are not quite wrong; yet, +at bottom, no real object is unpoetical, if the poet knows how to use +it properly. + + +_The Influence of Environment_ + +If a talent is to be speedily and happily developed, the great point is +that a great deal of intellect and sound culture should be current in a +nation. + +We admire the tragedies of the ancient Greeks; but, to take a correct +view of the case, we ought rather to admire the period and the nation +in which their production was possible than the individual authors; for +though these pieces differ a little from each other, and one of these +poets appears somewhat greater and more finished than the other, still, +taking all things together, only one decided character runs through the +whole. + +This is the character of grandeur, fitness, soundness, human +perfection, elevated wisdom, sublime thought, clear, concrete vision, +and whatever other qualities one might enumerate. But when we find +all these qualities, not only in the dramatic works that have come +down to us, but also in lyrical and epic works, in the philosophers, +the orators, and the historians, and in an equally high degree in the +works of plastic art that have come down to us, we must feel convinced +that such qualities did not merely belong to individuals, but were the +current property of the nation and the whole period. + +Now, take up Burns. How is he great, except through the circumstance +that the old songs of his predecessors lived in the mouth of the +people,--that they were, so to speak, sung at his cradle; that, as a +boy, he grew up amongst them, and the high excellence of these models +so pervaded him that he had therein a living basis on which he could +proceed further? Again, why is he great, but from this, that his own +songs at once found susceptible ears amongst his compatriots; that, +sung by reapers and sheaf-binders, they at once greeted him in the +field; and that his boon-companions sang them to welcome him at the +alehouse? Something was certainly to be done in this way. + +On the other hand, what a pitiful figure is made by us Germans! Of our +old songs--no less important than those of Scotland--how many lived +among the people in the days of my youth? Herder and his successors +first began to collect them and rescue them from oblivion; then they +were at least printed in the libraries. Then, more lately, what songs +have not Bürger and Voss composed! Who can say that they are more +insignificant or less popular than those of the excellent Burns? but +which of them so lives among us that it greets us from the mouth of +the people?--they are written and printed, and they remain in the +libraries, quite in accordance with the general fate of German poets. +Of my own songs, how many live? Perhaps one or another of them may be +sung by a pretty girl at the piano; but among the people, properly so +called, they have no sound. With what sensations must I remember the +time when passages from Tasso were sung to me by Italian fishermen! + +We Germans are of yesterday. We have indeed been properly cultivated +for a century; but a few centuries more must still elapse before so +much mind and elevated culture will become universal amongst our people +that they will appreciate beauty like the Greeks, that they will be +inspired by a beautiful song, and that it will be said of them “it is +long since they were barbarians.” + + +_Culture and Morals_ + +The audacity and grandeur of Byron must certainly tend towards Culture. +We should take care not to be always looking for it in only what is +decidedly pure and moral. Everything that is great promotes cultivation +as soon as we are aware of it. + + +_Classic and Romantic_ + +A new expression occurs to me which does not ill define the state of +the case. I call the classic _healthy_, the romantic _sickly_. In this +sense, the _Nibelungenlied_ is as classic as the _Iliad_, for both are +vigorous and healthy. Most modern productions are romantic, not because +they are new, but because they are weak, morbid, and sickly; and the +antique is classic, not because it is old, but because it is strong, +fresh, joyous, and healthy. If we distinguish “classic” and “romantic” +by these qualities, it will be easy to see our way clearly. + + * * * * * + +This is a pathological work; a superfluity of sap is bestowed on some +parts which do not require it, and drawn out of those which stand in +need of it. The subject was good, but the scenes which I expected were +not there; while others, which I did not expect, were elaborated with +assiduity and love. This is what I call pathological, or “romantic,” +if you would rather speak according to our new theory. + + * * * * * + +The French now begin to think justly of these matters. Both classic and +romantic, say they, are equally good. The only point is to use these +forms with judgment, and to be capable of excellence. You can be absurd +in both, and then one is as worthless as the other. This, I think, is +rational enough, and may content us for a while. + + * * * * * + +The idea of the distinction between classical and romantic poetry, +which is now spread over the whole world, and occasions so many +quarrels and divisions, came originally from Schiller and myself. I +laid down the maxim of objective treatment in poetry, and would allow +no other; but Schiller, who worked quite in the subjective way, deemed +his own fashion the right one, and to defend himself against me, wrote +the treatise upon _Naïve and Sentimental Poetry_. He proved to me that +I myself, against my will, was romantic, and that my _Iphigenia_, +through the predominance of sentiment, was by no means so classical and +so much in the antique spirit as some people supposed. + +The Schlegels took up this idea, and carried it further, so that it +has now been diffused over the whole world; and every one talks about +classicism and romanticism--of which nobody thought fifty years ago. + + +_Taste_ + +This is the way to cultivate what we call taste. Taste is only to be +educated by contemplation, not of the tolerably good, but of the +truly excellent. I therefore show you only the best works; and when +you are grounded in these, you will have a standard for the rest, +which you will know how to value, without overrating them. And I show +you the best in each class, that you may perceive that no class is to +be despised, but that each gives delight when a man of genius attains +its highest point. For instance, this piece, by a French artist, is +_galant_, to a degree which you see nowhere else, and is therefore a +model in its way. + + +_Style_ + +On the whole, philosophical speculation is injurious to the Germans, +as it tends to make their style abstract, difficult, and obscure. The +stronger their attachment to certain philosophical schools, the worse +they write. Those Germans who, as men of business and actual life, +confine themselves to the practical, write the best. Schiller’s style +is most noble and impressive whenever he leaves off philosophizing, as +I observe every day in his highly interesting letters, with which I am +now busy. + +There are also among the German women talented beings who write a +really excellent style, and, indeed, in that respect surpass many of +our celebrated male writers. + +The English almost always write well, being born orators and practical +men, with a tendency to the real. + +The French, in their style, remain true to their general character. +They are of a social nature, and therefore never forget the public whom +they address; they strive to be clear; that they may convince their +reader--agreeable, that they may please him. + +Altogether, the style of a writer is a faithful representative of his +mind; therefore, if any man wishes to write a clear style, let him +first be clear in his thoughts: and if any would write in a noble +style, let him first possess a noble soul. + + +_Intellect and Imagination_ + +I wonder what the German critics will say [of this poetic +inconsistency]. Will they have freedom and boldness enough to get over +this? Intellect will stand in the way of the French; they will not +consider that the imagination has its own laws, to which the intellect +cannot, and should not, penetrate. + +If imagination did not originate things which must ever be problems to +the intellect, there would be but little for the imagination to do. It +is this which separates poetry from prose; and it is in the latter that +the intellect always is, and always should be, at home. + + +_Definition of Poetry_ + +What need of much definition? Lively feeling of situations, and power +to express them, make the poet. + + +_Definition of Beauty_ + +I cannot help laughing at the æstheticians, who torment themselves in +endeavoring, by some abstract words, to reduce to a conception that +inexpressible thing to which we give the name of beauty. Beauty is a +primeval phenomenon, which itself never makes its appearance, but the +reflection of which is visible in a thousand different utterances of +the creative mind, and is as various as nature herself. + + +_Architecture and Music_ + +I have found a paper of mine among some others, in which I call +architecture “petrified music.”[14] Really there is something in this; +the tone of mind produced by architecture approaches the effect of +music. + + +_Primitive Poetry_ + +From these old German gloomy times we can obtain as little as from the +Servian songs, and similar barbaric popular poetry. We can read it and +be interested about it for a while, but merely to cast it aside, and +let it lie behind us. Generally speaking, a man is quite sufficiently +saddened by his own passions and destiny, and need not make himself +more so by the darkness of a barbaric past. He needs enlightening and +cheering influences, and should therefore turn to those eras in art and +literature, during which remarkable men obtained perfect culture, so +that they were satisfied with themselves, and able to impart to others +the blessings of their culture. + + +_Weltliteratur_ + +We [Germans] are weakest in the æsthetic department, and may wait +long before we meet such a man as Carlyle. It is pleasant to see that +intercourse is now so close between the French, English, and Germans, +that we shall be able to correct one another. This is the greatest use +of a World Literature, which will show itself more and more. + +Carlyle has written a life of Schiller, and judged him as it would be +difficult for a German to judge him. On the other hand, we are clear +about Shakespeare and Byron, and can, perhaps, appreciate their merits +better than the English themselves. + + +_French Critics_ + +I am now really curious to know what the gentlemen of the _Globe_ +will say of this novel. They are clever enough to perceive its +excellencies; and the whole tendency of the work is so much grist to +the mill of these liberals, although Manzoni has shown himself very +moderate. Nevertheless, the French seldom receive a work with such pure +kindliness as we; they cannot readily adapt themselves to the author’s +point of view, but, even in the best, always find something which is +not to their mind, and which the author should have done otherwise. + + * * * * * + +What men these writers in the _Globe_ are! One has scarcely a notion +how much greater and more remarkable they become every day, and how +much, as it were, they are imbued with one spirit. Such a paper would +be utterly impossible in Germany. We are mere individuals; harmony +and concert are not to be thought of; each has the opinions of his +province, his city, and his own idiosyncrasy; and it will be a long +while before we have attained an universal culture. + + +_The Construction of a Good Play_ + +When a piece makes a deep impression on us in reading, we think that it +will do the same on the stage, and that such a result can be obtained +with little trouble. But this is by no means the case. A piece that is +not originally, by the intent and skill of the poet, written for the +boards, will not succeed; but whatever is done to it will always remain +something unmanageable. What trouble have I taken with my _Goetz von +Berlichingen_! Yet it will not quite do as an acting play; it is too +long; and I have been forced to divide it into two parts, of which the +last is indeed theatrically effective, while the first is to be looked +upon as a mere introduction. If the first part were given only once +as an introduction, and then the second repeatedly, it might succeed. +It is the same with _Wallenstein_; the _Piccolomini_ does not bear +repetition, but _Wallenstein’s Death_ is always seen with delight. + +The construction of a play must be symbolical; that is to say, each +incident must be significant in itself, and lead to another still more +important. The _Tartuffe_ of Molière is, in this respect, a great +example. Only think what an introduction is the first scene! From +the very beginning everything is highly significant, and leads us to +expect something still more important which is to come. The beginning +of Lessing’s _Minna von Barnhelm_ is also admirable; but that of +_Tartuffe_ is absolutely unique: it is the greatest and best thing that +exists of the kind. + +In Calderon you find the same perfect adaptation to the theatre. His +pieces are throughout fit for the boards; there is not a touch in them +which is not directed towards the required effect. Calderon is a genius +who had also the finest understanding. + +Shakespeare wrote his plays direct from his own nature. Then, too, his +age and the existing arrangements of the stage made no demands upon +him; people were forced to put up with whatever he gave them. But if +Shakespeare had written for the court of Madrid, or for the theatre +of Louis XIV, he would probably have adapted himself to a severer +theatrical form. This, however, is by no means to be regretted, for +what Shakespeare has lost as a theatrical poet he has gained as a poet +in general. Shakespeare is a great psychologist, and we learn from his +pieces what really moves the hearts of men. + + +_Dramatic Unities_ + +He [Byron] understood the purpose of this law no better than the rest +of the world. Comprehensibility [_das Fassliche_] is the purpose, and +the three unities are only so far good as they conduce to this end. +If the observance of them hinders the comprehension of a work, it is +foolish to treat them as laws, and to try to observe them. Even the +Greeks, from whom the rule was taken, did not always follow it. In +the _Phaethon_ of Euripides, and in other pieces, there is a change +of place, and it is obvious that good representation of their subject +was with them more important than blind obedience to law, which, in +itself, is of no great consequence. The pieces of Shakespeare deviate, +as far as possible, from the unities of time and place; but they +are comprehensible--nothing more so--and on this account the Greeks +would have found no fault in them. The French poets have endeavored +to follow most rigidly the laws of the three unities, but they sin +against comprehensibility, inasmuch as they solve a dramatic law, not +dramatically, but by narration. + + +_The Theatre_ + +Any one who is sufficiently young, and who is not quite spoiled, could +not easily find any place that would suit him so well as a theatre. +No one asks you any questions: you need not open your mouth unless +you choose; on the contrary, you sit quite at your ease like a king, +and let everything pass before you, and recreate your mind and senses +to your heart’s content. There is poetry, there is painting, there +are singing and music, there is acting, and what not besides. When +all these arts, and the charm of youth and beauty heightened to an +important degree, work in concert on the same evening, it is a bouquet +to which no other can compare. But even when part is bad and part is +good, it is still better than looking out of the window, or playing a +game of whist in a close party amid the smoke of cigars. + + +_Acting_ + +It is a great error to think that an indifferent piece may be played +by indifferent actors. A second or third rate play can be incredibly +improved by the employment of first-rate talents, and be made something +really good. But if a second or third rate play be performed by second +or third rate actors, no one can wonder if it is utterly ineffective. + +Second-rate actors are excellent in great plays. They have the same +effect that the figures in half shade have in a picture; they serve +admirably to show off more powerfully those which have the full light. + + +_Dramatic Situations_ + +Gozzi maintained that there are only thirty-six tragical situations. +Schiller took the greatest pains to find more, but he did not find even +so many as Gozzi. + + +_Management of the Theatre_ + +The Grand Duke disclosed to me his opinion that a theatre need not +be of architectural magnificence, which could not be contradicted. +He further said that it was after all but a house for the purpose +of getting money. This view appears at first sight rather material; +but rightly considered, it is not without a higher purport. For if +a theatre is not only to pay its expenses, but is, besides, to make +and save money, everything about it must be excellent. It must have +the best management at its head; the actors must be of the best; and +good pieces must continually be performed, that the attractive power +required to draw a full house every evening may never cease. But that +is saying a great deal in a few words--almost what is impossible. + +Even Shakespeare and Molière had no other view. Both of them wished, +above all things, to make money out of their theatres. In order +to attain this, their principal aim, they necessarily strove that +everything should be as good as possible, and that, besides good old +plays, there should be some worthy novelty to please and attract. + +Nothing is more dangerous to the well-being of a theatre than when +the director is so placed that a greater or less receipt at the +treasury does not affect him personally, and he can live on in careless +security, knowing that, however the receipts at the treasury may fail +in the course of the year, at the end of that time he will be able to +indemnify himself from another source. It is a property of human nature +soon to relax when not impelled by personal advantage or disadvantage. + + +_Menander_ + +I know no one, after Sophocles, whom I love so well. He is thoroughly +pure, noble, great, and cheerful, and his grace is inimitable. It is +certainly to be lamented that we possess so little of him, but that +little is invaluable, and highly instructive to gifted men. + + +_Calderon_ + +The great point is that he from whom we would learn should be congenial +to our nature. Now, Calderon, for instance, great as he is, and much +as I admire him, has exerted no influence over me for good or for ill. +But he would have been dangerous to Schiller--he would have led him +astray; and hence it is fortunate that Calderon was not generally known +in Germany till after Schiller’s death. Calderon is infinitely great +in the technical and theatrical; Schiller, on the contrary, far more +sound, earnest, and great in his intention, and it would have been a +pity if he had lost any of these virtues, without, after all, attaining +the greatness of Calderon in other respects. + + +_Molière_ + +Molière is so great that one is astonished anew every time one reads +him. He is a man by himself--his pieces border on tragedy; they are +apprehensive; and no one has the courage to imitate them. His _Miser_, +where the vice destroys all the natural piety between father and son, +is especially great, and in a high sense tragic. But when, in a German +paraphrase, the son is changed into a relation, the whole is weakened, +and loses its significance. They feared to show the vice in its true +nature, as he did; but what is tragic there, or indeed anywhere, except +what is intolerable? + +I read some pieces of Molière’s every year, just as, from time to time, +I contemplate the engravings after the great Italian masters. For we +little men are not able to retain the greatness of such things within +ourselves; we must therefore return to them from time to time, and +renew our impressions. + + * * * * * + +If we, for our modern purposes, wish to learn how to conduct ourselves +upon the theatre, Molière is the man to whom we should apply. + +Do you know his _Malade Imaginaire_? There is a scene in it which, +as often as I read the piece, appears to me the symbol of a perfect +knowledge of the boards. I mean the scene where the “malade imaginaire” +asks his little daughter Louison if there has not been a young man in +the chamber of her eldest sister. + +Now, any other who did not understand his craft so well would have let +the little Louison plainly tell the fact at once, and there would have +been the end of the matter. + +But what various motives for delay are introduced by Molière into this +examination, for the sake of life and effect. He first makes the little +Louison act as if she did not understand her father; then she denies +that she knows anything; then, threatened with the rod, she falls down +as if dead; then, when her father bursts out in despair, she springs up +from her feigned swoon with roguish hilarity, and at last, little by +little, she confesses all. + +My explanation can only give you a very meagre notion of the animation +of the scene; but read this scene yourself till you become thoroughly +impressed with its theatrical worth, and you will confess that there is +more practical instruction contained in it than in all the theories in +the world. + +I have known and loved Molière from my youth, and have learned from +him during my whole life. I never fail to read some of his plays every +year, that I may keep up a constant intercourse with what is excellent. +It is not merely the perfectly artistic treatment which delights me; +but particularly the amiable nature, the highly-formed mind, of the +poet. There is in him a grace and a feeling for the decorous, and a +tone of good society, which his innate beautiful nature could only +attain by daily intercourse with the most eminent men of his age. Of +Menander, I only know the few fragments; but these give me so high an +idea of him that I look upon this great Greek as the only man who could +be compared to Molière. + + +_Shakespeare_ + +We cannot talk about Shakespeare; everything is inadequate. I have +touched upon the subject in my _Wilhelm Meister_, but that is not +saying much. He is not a theatrical poet; he never thought of the +stage; it was far too narrow for his great mind: nay, the whole visible +world was too narrow. + +He is even too rich and too powerful. A productive nature ought not to +read more than one of his dramas in a year if it would not be wrecked +entirely. I did well to get rid of him by writing _Goetz_ and _Egmont_, +and Byron did well by not having too much respect and admiration for +him, but going his own way. How many excellent Germans have been ruined +by him and Calderon! + +Shakespeare gives us golden apples in silver dishes. We get, indeed, +the silver dishes by studying his works; but, unfortunately, we have +only potatoes to put into them. + + * * * * * + +_Macbeth_ is Shakespeare’s best acting play, the one in which he shows +most understanding with respect to the stage. But would you see his +mind unfettered, read _Troilus and Cressida_, where he treats the +materials of the _Iliad_ in his own fashion. + + +_A. W. Schlegel’s Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature_ + +It is not to be denied that Schlegel knows a great deal, and one is +almost terrified at his extraordinary attainments and his extensive +reading. But this is not enough. Learning in itself does not constitute +judgment. His criticism is completely one-sided, because in all +theatrical pieces he merely regards the skeleton of the plot and +arrangement, and only points out small points of resemblance to great +predecessors, without troubling himself in the least as to what the +author brings forward of graceful life and the culture of a high soul. +But of what use are all the arts of genius, if we do not find in a +theatrical piece an amiable or great personality of the author? This +alone influences the cultivation of the people. + +I look upon the manner in which Schlegel has treated the French drama +as a sort of recipe for the formation of a bad critic, who is wanting +in every organ for the veneration of excellence, and who passes over +an able personality and a great character as if they were chaff and +stubble. + + +_The French Romanticists_ + +Extremes are never to be avoided in any revolution. In a political +one nothing is generally desired in the beginning but the abolition +of abuses; but before people are aware, they are deep in bloodshed +and horror. Thus the French, in their present literary revolution, +desired nothing at first but a freer form; however, they will not stop +there, but will reject the traditional contents together with the +form. They begin to declare the representation of noble sentiments and +deeds as tedious, and attempt to treat of all sorts of abominations. +Instead of the beautiful subjects from Grecian mythology, there are +devils, witches, and vampires, and the lofty heroes of antiquity must +give place to jugglers and galley slaves. This is piquant! This is +effective! But after the public has once tasted this highly seasoned +food, and has become accustomed to it, it will always long for more, +and that stronger. A young man of talent, who would produce an effect +and be acknowledged, and who is great enough to go his own way, must +accommodate himself to the taste of the day--nay, must seek to outdo +his predecessors in the horrible and frightful. But in this chase after +outward means of effect, all profound study, and all gradual and +thorough development of the talent and the man from within, is entirely +neglected. And this is the greatest injury which can befall a talent, +although literature in general will gain by this tendency of the moment. + +The extremes and excrescences which I have described will gradually +disappear; but this great advantage will finally remain--besides +a freer form, richer and more diversified subjects will have been +attained, and no object of the broadest world and the most manifold +life will be any longer excluded as unpoetical. I compare the present +literary epoch to a state of violent fever, which is not in itself good +and desirable, but of which improved health is the happy consequence. +That abomination which now often constitutes the whole subject of a +poetical work will in future only appear as a useful expedient; aye, +the pure and the noble, which is now abandoned for the moment, will +soon be resought with additional ardor. + +Mérimée has treated these things very differently from his +fellow-authors. These poems, it is true, are not deficient in various +horrible motifs, such as churchyards, nocturnal crossroads, ghosts and +vampires; but the repulsive themes do not touch the intrinsic merit +of the poet. On the contrary, he treats them from a certain objective +distance, and, as it were, with irony. He goes to work with them like +an artist, to whom it is an amusement to try anything of the sort. He +has, as I have said before, quite renounced himself, nay, he has even +renounced the Frenchman, and that to such a degree that at first these +poems of Guzla were deemed real Illyrian popular poems, and thus little +was wanting for the success of the imposition he had intended. + +Mérimée, to be sure, is a splendid fellow! Indeed, more power and +genius are generally required for the objective treatment of a +subject than is supposed. So Lord Byron, also, notwithstanding his +predominant personality, has sometimes had the power of renouncing +himself altogether, as may be seen in some of his dramatic pieces, +particularly in his _Marino Faliero_. In this piece one quite forgets +that Lord Byron, or even an Englishman, wrote it. We live entirely in +Venice, and entirely in the time in which the action takes place. The +personages speak quite from themselves, and from their own condition, +without having any of the subjective feelings, thoughts, and opinions +of the poet. That is as it should be. Of our young French romantic +writers of the exaggerating sort, one cannot say as much. What I +have read of them--poems, novels, dramatic works--have all borne the +personal coloring of the author, and none of them ever make me forget +that a Parisian--that a Frenchman--wrote them. Even in the treatment of +foreign subjects one still remains in France and Paris, quite absorbed +in all the wishes, necessities, conflicts, and fermentations of the +present day. + + +_Victor Hugo_ + +He has a fine talent, but quite entangled in the unhappy romantic +tendency of his time, by which he is seduced to represent, together +with what is beautiful, also that which is most insupportable and +hideous. I have lately been reading his _Notre Dame de Paris_, and +required no little patience to support the horror with which this +reading has inspired me. It is the most abominable book that ever +was written! Besides, one is not even indemnified for the torture +one has to endure by the pleasure one might receive from a truthful +representation of human nature or human character. His book is, on +the contrary, utterly destitute of nature and truth! The so-called +characters whom he brings forward are not human beings with living +flesh and blood, but miserable wooden puppets, which he deals with as +he pleases, and which he causes to make all sorts of contortions and +grimaces just as he needs them for his desired effects. But what an age +it must be which not only renders such a book possible and calls it +into existence, but even finds it endurable and delightful. + + +_The “Idea” of Goethe’s Tasso and Faust_ + +Idea! as if I knew anything about it. I had the life of Tasso, I had +my own life; and whilst I brought together two odd figures with their +peculiarities, the image of Tasso arose in my mind, to which I opposed, +as a prosaic contrast, that of Antonio, for whom also I did not lack +models. The further particulars of court life and love affairs were at +Weimar as they were in Ferrara; and I can truly say of my production, +_it is bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh_. + +The Germans are, certainly, strange people. By their deep thoughts and +ideas, which they seek in everything and fix upon everything, they make +life much more burdensome than is necessary. Only have the courage to +give yourself up to your impressions, allow yourself to be delighted, +moved, elevated, nay, instructed and inspired for something great; but +do not imagine all is vanity, if it is not abstract thought and idea. + +Then they come and ask what idea I meant to embody in my _Faust_. As if +I knew myself and could inform them. _From heaven, through the world, +to hell_, would indeed be something; but this is no idea, only a course +of action. And further, that the devil loses the wager, and that a man, +continually struggling from difficult errors towards something better, +should be redeemed, is an effective, and to many, a good enlightening +thought; but it is no idea which lies at the foundation of the whole +and of every individual scene. It would have been a fine thing, +indeed, if I had strung so rich, varied, and highly diversified a life +as I have brought to view in _Faust_ upon the slender string of one +pervading idea. + +It was, on the whole, not in my line, as a poet, to strive to embody +anything _abstract_. I received in my mind _impressions_, and those +of a sensuous, animated, charming, varied, hundredfold kind, just as +a lively imagination presented them; and I had, as a poet, nothing +more to do than artistically to round off and elaborate such views and +impressions, and by means of a lively representation so to bring them +forward that others might receive the same impression in hearing or +reading my representation of them. + +If I however wished, as a poet, to represent any idea, I did it in +short poems, where a decided unity could prevail, as, for instance, in +the _Metamorphosis of Animals_, that of _Plants_, the poem _Legacy_, +and many others. The only production of greater extent, in which I am +conscious of having labored to set forth a pervading idea, is probably +my _Elective Affinities_. This novel has thus become comprehensible +to the intellect; but I will not say that it is therefore better. I +am rather of the opinion that the more incommensurable, and the more +incomprehensible to the intellect, a poetic production is, so much the +better it is. + + +_Schiller_ + +Yes, everything else about him was proud and majestic, only the eyes +were soft. And his talent was like his outward form. He seized boldly +on a great subject, and turned it this way and that, and handled it +this way and that. But he saw his object, as it were, only from the +outside; a quiet development from within was not his province. His +talent was desultory. Thus he was never decided--could never have done. +He often changed a part just before a rehearsal. + +And, as he went so boldly to work, he did not take sufficient pains +about _motives_. I recollect what trouble I had with him when he wanted +to make Gessler, in _Tell_, abruptly break an apple from the tree, and +have it shot from the boy’s head. This was quite against my nature, +and I urged him to give at least some motive to this barbarity, by +making the boy boast to Gessler of his father’s dexterity, and say that +he could shoot an apple from a tree at a hundred paces. Schiller, at +first, would have nothing of the sort: but at last he yielded to my +arguments and intentions, and did as I advised him. I, on the other +hand, by too great attention to _motives_, kept my pieces from the +theatre. My _Eugenie_ is nothing but a chain of _motives_, and this +cannot succeed on the stage. + +Schiller’s genius was really made for the theatre. With every piece he +progressed, and became more finished; but, strange to say, a certain +love for the horrible adhered to him from the time of the _Robbers_, +which never quite left him even in his prime. I still recollect +perfectly well that in the prison scene in my _Egmont_, where the +sentence is read to him, Schiller would have made Alva appear in the +background, masked and muffled in a cloak, enjoying the effect which +the sentence would produce on Egmont. Thus Alva was to show himself +insatiable in revenge and malice. I, however, protested, and prevented +the apparition. He was a singular, great man. + +Every week he became different and more finished; each time that I saw +him he seemed to me to have advanced in learning and judgment. His +letters are the fairest memorials of him which I possess, and they are +also among the most excellent of his writings. + + +_Edinburgh Review_ + +It is a pleasure to me to see the elevation and excellence to which +the English critics now rise. There is not a trace of their former +pedantry, but its place is occupied by great qualities. In the last +article--the one on German literature--you will find the following +remark:--“There are some poets who have a tendency always to occupy +themselves with things which another likes to drive from his mind.” +What say you to this? There we know at once where we are, and how we +have to classify a great number of our most modern literati. + + +_Byron_ + +Lord Byron is to be regarded as a man, as an Englishman, and as a great +genius. His good qualities belong chiefly to the man, his bad to the +Englishman and the peer, his talent is incommensurable. + +All Englishmen, as such, are without reflection, properly so called; +distractions and party spirit will not permit them to perfect +themselves in quiet. But they are great as practical men. + +Thus Lord Byron could never attain reflection concerning himself, and +on this account his maxims in general are not successful, as is shown +by his creed, “much money and no authority,” for much money always +paralyzes authority. + +But where he creates he always succeeds; and we may truly say that with +him inspiration supplies the place of reflection. Something within him +ever drove him to poetry, and then everything that came from the man, +especially from his heart, was excellent. He produced his best things, +as women do pretty children, without thinking about it or knowing how +it was done. + +He is a great talent, a born talent, and I never saw the true poetical +power greater in any man than in him. In the apprehension of external +objects, and a clear penetration into past situations, he is quite as +great as Shakespeare. But as a pure individuality, Shakespeare is his +superior. This was felt by Byron, and on this account he does not say +much of Shakespeare, although he knows whole passages by heart. He +would willingly have denied him altogether; for Shakespeare’s serenity +is in his way, and he feels that he is no match for it. Pope he does +not deny, for he had no cause to fear him. On the contrary, he mentions +him, and shows him respect when he can, for he knows well enough that +Pope is a mere foil to himself. + +His high rank as an English peer was very injurious to Byron; for every +talent is oppressed by the outer world,--how much more, then, when +there is such high birth and so great a fortune. A certain middle rank +is much more favorable to talent, on which account we find all great +artists and poets in the middle classes. Byron’s predilection for the +unbounded could not have been nearly so dangerous with more humble +birth and smaller means. But as it was, he was able to put every fancy +into practice, and this involved him in innumerable scrapes. Besides, +how could one of such high rank be inspired with awe and respect by any +rank whatever? He expressed whatever he felt, and this brought him into +ceaseless conflict with the world. + + * * * * * + +Moreover, his perpetual negation and fault-finding is injurious even +to his excellent works. For not only does the discontent of the poet +infect the reader, but the end of all opposition is negation; and +negation is nothing. If I call _bad_ bad, what do I gain? But if I call +_good_ bad, I do a great deal of mischief. He who will work aright must +never rail, must not trouble himself at all about what is ill done, +but only strive to do well himself. For the great point is not to pull +down, but to build up, and in this humanity finds pure joy. + + * * * * * + +I could not make use of any man as the representative of the modern +poetical era except him, who undoubtedly is to be regarded as the +greatest genius of our century. Byron is neither antique nor romantic, +but like the present day itself. This was the sort of man I required. +Then he suited me on account of his unsatisfied nature and his warlike +tendency, which led to his death at Missolonghi. + + * * * * * + +Lord Byron is only great as a poet; as soon as he reflects, he is a +child. + + +_Scott_ + +Walter Scott’s _Fair Maid of Perth_ is excellent, is it not? There is +finish! there is a hand! What a firm foundation for the whole, and in +particular not a touch which does not lead to the goal! Then, what +details of dialogue and description, both of which are excellent. His +scenes and situations are like pictures by Teniers; in the arrangement +they show the summit of art, the individual figures have a speaking +truth, and the execution is extended with artistic love to the minutest +details, so that not a stroke is lost. + +You find everywhere in Walter Scott a remarkable security and +thoroughness in his delineation, which proceeds from his comprehensive +knowledge of the real world, obtained by life-long studies and +observations, and a daily discussion of the most important relations. +Then come his great talent and his comprehensive nature. You remember +the English critic who compares the poets to the voices of singers, of +which some can command only a few fine tones, while others have the +whole compass, from the highest to the lowest, completely in their +power. Walter Scott is one of this last sort. In the _Fair Maid of +Perth_ you will not find a single weak passage to make you feel as if +his knowledge and talent were insufficient. He is equal to his subject +in every direction in which it takes him; the king, the royal brother, +the prince, the head of the clergy, the nobles, the magistracy, the +citizens and mechanics, the Highlanders, are all drawn with the same +sure hand, and hit off with equal truth. + +The passage where the prince, sitting on horseback, makes the pretty +minstrel girl step upon his foot, that he may raise her up for a kiss, +is in the boldest English style. But you ladies are wrong always to +take sides. Usually, you read a book to find nutrition for the heart, +to find a hero whom you could love. This is not the way to read; the +great point is not whether this or that character pleases, but whether +the whole book pleases. + +But, when you have finished the _Fair Maid of Perth_, you must at once +read _Waverley_, which is written from quite a different point of view, +but which may, without hesitation, be set beside the best works that +have ever been written in this world. We see that it is the same man +who wrote the _Fair Maid of Perth_, but that he has yet to gain the +favor of the public, and therefore collects his forces so that he may +not give a touch that is short of excellence. The _Fair Maid of Perth_, +on the other hand, is from a freer pen; the author is now sure of his +public, and he proceeds more at liberty. After reading _Waverley_, you +will understand why Walter Scott still designates himself the author of +that work; for there he showed what he could do, and he has never since +written anything to surpass, or even equal, that first published novel. + + * * * * * + +Walter Scott is a great genius; he has not his equal; and we need not +wonder at the extraordinary effect he produces on the whole reading +world. He gives me much to think of; and I discover in him a wholly +new art, with laws of its own. + + * * * * * + +We read far too many poor things, thus losing time, and gaining +nothing. We should only read what we admire, as I did in my youth, and +as I now experience with Sir Walter Scott. I have just begun _Rob Roy_, +and will read his best novels in succession. All is great--material, +import, characters, execution; and then what infinite diligence in +the preparatory studies! what truth of detail in the execution! We +see, too, what English history is; and what a thing it is when such an +inheritance falls to the lot of a clever poet. Our German history, in +five volumes, is, on the other hand, sheer poverty. + + * * * * * + +It is a peculiarity of Walter Scott’s that his great talent in +representing details often leads him into faults. Thus, in _Ivanhoe_, +there is a scene where they are seated at a table in a castle-hall at +night, and a stranger enters. Now, he is quite right in describing the +stranger’s appearance and dress, but it is a fault that he goes to the +length of describing his feet, shoes, and stockings. When we sit down +in the evening, and some one comes in, we see only the upper part of +his body. If I describe the feet, daylight enters at once, and the +scene loses its nocturnal character. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[13] Goethe had been reproached “for not taking up arms in the +German War of Liberation, or at least coöperating as a poet.” + +[14] “Architecture is music in space, as it were a frozen +music.”--Schelling’s _Philosophie der Kunst_. + + + + +APPENDIX + + I. On the Selection and Translation of the Essays in this Volume. + + II. On the Chronology of Goethe’s Critical Studies. + + + + +APPENDIX + + +I. _On the Selection and Translation of the Essays in this Volume_ + +This book was first suggested to me in 1909, and was virtually +completed seven or eight years ago; but the manuscript was mislaid +among some old papers, and when it was recovered the European War was +at its height. Never again, it then seemed, could I regard my work +with the same disinterested temper in which it was begun, for what was +recovered was no longer a manuscript but a ghost, no longer a book but +a strange spirit returned from an all too irrecoverable past. When +I re-read these words from the lips of one who had spent his life +“with spirits god-like mild,” and related them to our new and altered +world, I understood once more how man forever fashions history to his +own meaning, and how it has no life except such as is given to it by +his creative mind. Every word I now read assumed a new and heightened +significance, a more intimate relation with life; and every word was a +call to sympathy and understanding,--the word of a man who had withheld +all hate from enemy France, had praised England and its literature, +had analyzed the defects of his own countrymen, and had made constant +denial of the compatibility of poetry and partisanship. How could +I approach work of this kind in the spirit of the fiery national +partisan, not to mention that of the mere dryasdust scholar, when every +word Goethe uttered shed light and meaning on the warm life about me, +and every accent of his voice taught a high forebearance? So when on +sick-leave from my regiment at the very end of 1917, to while away +the tediousness of convalescence, I played once more with the work +begun in the old days when I was still able to live in “the wise man’s +only country, Life”; and before I sailed for France, leaving behind me +the manuscript as it here stands, I determined that if it were ever +published, I should add nothing in the form of preface, introduction, +or critical apparatus, but allow Goethe to speak for himself to such +hearts as could hear and understand him. Some readers may find a key to +that understanding if they begin with the famous passage on “Poetry and +Patriotism” on page 251. + +No adequate estimate of Goethe’s critical work has yet been achieved; +and the sensible but unilluminating chapter on this subject in the +late Calvin Thomas’s _Goethe_ is not much more disappointing than the +more extended studies in German of Oskar Walzel and Wilhelm Bode. For +a complete estimate of Goethe as a critic we should have to ransack +all his essays and reviews, his novels and poems, his autobiography +and his journals, his letters and conversations, for in all of them he +has scattered judgments on books and thoughts on the theory of art. It +would almost seem as if his reputation as a critic rests more securely +on these casual utterances than on his formal essays and studies. There +more than elsewhere Sainte-Beuve and Matthew Arnold recognized “the +supreme critic”; there above all we find that mellow wisdom which we +have come to associate with Goethe’s name. + +In this little volume, however, we have most of Goethe’s successive +moods represented by some characteristic utterance,--the young +reviewer, the lover of Shakespeare and Gothic art, rebelling against +schools and rules but most of all against dullness and formality; the +contributor to Wieland’s _German Mercury_, the collaborator of Schiller +in the _Horen_ and in an exchange of letters of incomparable interest, +after the life of Weimar and the journey to Italy had mellowed +his talents; the student of art and æsthetics in the _Propyläen_, +championing the antique spirit and voicing a protest against the +excesses of romanticism; the more thoughtful but still sympathetic +student of Shakespeare, enthusiastic in _Wilhelm Meister_, more +temperate in _Shakespeare ad Infinitum_; the mature reviewer, welcoming +the publication of old German and foreign folksongs, and hailing in +turn Byron, Manzoni, Carlyle, Niebuhr, and all the young French and +German writers of his day; and finally, the literary dictator in his +old age, as shown in the careless and incessant wisdom of his recorded +conversation. We have here, it is true, a very small part of his +extraordinary output, but quite enough to form a just judgment of his +place among the great critics. In a career so extended and a mind so +active and all-embracing we must expect to find inconsistencies and +errors of judgment. Some of the ideas in this volume have only an +historical interest; a perverse mind might indeed garner from it an +anthology of critical errors. It was not these which won for him from +so many the title of “supreme critic,” but rather the sanity, insight, +and impartiality of his mind and his extraordinary gift for foreseeing +the direction of critical thought. + +All of the selections in Part I, except the essay on “German +Architecture,” have been taken from Goethe’s _Essays on Art_, +translated by S. G. Ward (Boston, 1845). Wilhelm Meister’s critique +of _Hamlet_ has been excerpted from Carlyle’s rendering of _Wilhelm +Meister’s Lehrjahre_. The version of John Oxenford has been used for +the selections from the _Conversations with Eckermann_, and Oxenford’s +version, as revised by Miss M. S. Smith, for the selection from +Goethe’s _Autobiography_. The remaining essays were translated by the +late Randolph S. Bourne, by Professor F. W. J. Heuser, and by myself. +I am indebted to Mr. Bourne for translating the following essays: “On +German Architecture,” “Shakespeare ad Infinitum,” “The First Edition of +_Hamlet_,” “_Troilus and Cressida_,” “The Methods of French Criticism,” +“Supplement to Aristotle’s _Poetics_,” “Tieck’s Dramaturgic Fragments,” +“On the German Theatre,” “Didactic Poetry,” “Superstition and Poetry,” +“The Theory of a World Literature,” “Byron’s _Manfred_,” “Byron’s _Don +Juan_,” “Calderon’s _Daughter of the Air_,” “Molière’s _Misanthrope_,” +“Folksongs again Commended,” and “Laurence Sterne.” Professor Heuser +has translated the following: “The Production of a National Classic,” +“Epic and Dramatic Poetry,” and “English Reviewers.” I have made +material changes and corrections in almost all the translations, but on +the whole each translator should be held responsible for the accuracy +and style of his own work. For the selection and arrangement of the +material, and for the titles given to some of the excerpts, I am alone +responsible. + +Some of Goethe’s judgments on books, and his maxims on life and art, +have already appeared in volumes of selections in English translation; +but no other work in any language, so far as I am aware, attempts to +include in a single volume the whole range of Goethe’s critical and +æsthetic studies. Some of the selections have never before appeared in +English. + + J. E. S. + + TROUTBECK, May, 1919. + +Since the above was written, I have become greatly indebted to Lord +Haldane for contributing the Foreword, and especially to Professor +Friedrich Bruns for reading the proofsheets and revising some of the +translations. Miss L. Bonino has prepared the Index. + + J. E. S. + + NEW YORK, September, 1921. + + +II. _On the Chronology of Goethe’s Critical Studies_ + +The following chronology of Goethe’s critical activity is intended +chiefly to indicate the original sources of the selections in the +present volume. + + 1772-73. Reviews in the _Frankfurter gelehrten Anzeigen_: + + Goethe as a Young Reviewer (reviews of Blum’s _Lyrische Gedichte_, + and Sulzer’s _Cymbelline, ein Trauerspiel, nach einem von + Shakespeare erfundnen Stoffe_, both translated in full). + + 1773. _Von deutscher Baukunst_: + + On German Architecture (complete translation). + + 1788 sq. Articles in Wieland’s _Teutscher Merkur_: + + Simple Imitation of Nature, Manner, Style (_Über Italien: Einfache + Nachahmung der Natur, Manier, Stil_, complete translation). + + 1794-1805. Correspondence of Goethe and Schiller: + + Epic and Dramatic Poetry (complete translation); also footnote on + page 104. + + 1795-96. _Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre_: + + Wilhelm Meister’s Critique of _Hamlet_. + + 1795-97. Articles in _Die Horen_: + + The Production of a National Classic (_Literarischer + Sansculottismus_, complete translation except for four introductory + paragraphs). + + 1798-1800. Articles in _Die Propyläen_: + + Introduction to the Propylæa. + + On Laocoon (complete translation). + + On Truth and Probability in Works of Art (complete translation). + + The Collector and his Friends. + + Notes on Dillettantism. (By Goethe and Schiller). + + 1804 sq. Reviews in the _Jenaische Allgemeine Literaturzeitung_: + + Old German Folksongs (review of _Des Knaben Wunderhorn_, translated + in full except that only a few of Goethe’s characterizations of + individual poems are included). + + 1811-14. _Dichtung und Wahrheit_ (Autobiography): + + German Literature in Goethe’s Youth (selected passages from part + ii, book 7); also footnote on page 14 (from part ii, book 10). + + 1815 sq. Articles in the _Morgenblatt für gebildete Stände_: + + Shakespeare ad Infinitum, parts i-ii, written 1813 (_Shakespeare + und kein Ende_, complete translation). + + On the German Theatre (complete translation). + + 1816-32. Articles in _Über Kunst und Alterthum_: + + Ancient and Modern. + + The Theory of a World Literature, part i (review of Duval’s _Le + Tasse_), part ii (_Bezüge nach Aussen_, complete translation), + part iii (_Edinburgh Reviews_), part v (review of Carlyle’s _Leben + Schillers_). + + Supplement to Aristotle’s _Poetics_ (complete translation). + + On Didactic Poetry (complete translation). + + Superstition and Poetry (_Justus Möser_). + + The Methods of French Critics (_Urteilsworte französischer + Kritiker_, complete translation). + + On Criticism, § 1 (review of Manzoni’s _Carmagnola_), § 3 (review + of Rochlitz’s _Für Freunde der Tonkunst_). + + The First Edition of _Hamlet_ (complete translation). + + Byron’s _Manfred_ (complete translation). + + Byron’s _Don Juan_ (complete translation). + + Calderon’s _Daughter of the Air_ (complete translation). + + Molière’s _Misanthrope_ (review of Taschereau’s _Histoire de la Vie + et des Ouvrages de Molière_, complete translation). + + Shakespeare ad Infinitum, part iii, written 1816, published 1826 + (complete translation). + + Folksongs again Commended (complete translation). + + Laurence Sterne (complete translation). + + The English Reviewers (review of Manzoni’s _Carmagnola_). + + 1822-32. _Gespräche mit Goethe in den letzten Jahren seines Lebens_, + by J. P. Eckermann (published 1836-48): + + Extracts from Goethe’s Conversations with Eckermann. + + Posthumous Works (_Nachgelassene Werke_, 1833): + + Tieck’s Dramaturgic Fragments (complete translation). + + _Troilus and Cressida_ (_Über die Parodie bei den Alten_). + + + + +INDEX + + + + +INDEX + + + Anacreon, 239. + + Aristotle, 104 _sq._ + + Arnault, Antoine Vincent, 258. + + Arnim, Achim von, 213 _sq._ + + + Blümner, Heinrich, 184. + + Blum, J. C., 199 _sq._ + + Blumauer, Alois, 206. + + Bodmer, Johann Jakob, 233, 239. + + Breitinger, Johann Jakob, 231, 233. + + Brentano, Clemens, 213 _sq._ + + Bürger, Gottfried August, 74, 262. + + Burns, Robert, 262. + + Byron, 202 _sq._, 263, 268, 270, 276, 279, 283 _sq._ + + + Calderon, 208 _sq._, 251, 269, 273, 276. + + Carlyle, Thomas, 267 _sq._, 293. + + Characteristic art, 11, 37. + + Chinese literature, 249. + + Chodowiecki, Daniel Nicolaus, 67. + + Claudius, Matthias, 74. + + Cousin, Victor, 97. + + Criticism, theory of, 134, 140, 224, 230, 276, 283. + + + Diderot, Denys, 138. + + Drama, and Theatre, 50, 75, 79, 100, 104, 109, 126, 158, 170, 179, 184, + 190, 268 _sq._ + + Dürer, Albrecht, 13. + + + Erwin von Steinbach, 3, 7, 10, 12. + + + Fabroni, Angelo, 40. + + Folksongs, 213, 220, 267. + + Frederick the Great, 241. + + Fürnstein, Anton, 259. + + + Gellert, Christian Fürchtegott, 232. + + Gessner, Salomon, 74, 239. + + Gleim, Johann Wilhelm Ludwig, 236, 242, 244. + + Goldsmith, Oliver, 256. + + Gottsched, Johann Christoph, 230 _sq._, 239 _sq._ + + Gozzi, Count Carlo, 272. + + Gries, Johann Dietrich, 210. + + Grimm, Friedrich Melchior, Baron von, 138 _sq._ + + Guizot, François Pierre Guillaume, 97. + + Günther, Johann Christian, 234. + + + Haller, Albrecht von, 235. + + Hamann, Johann Georg, 14. + + Handel, Georg Friedrich, 107. + + Herder, Johann Gottfried von, 14, 262. + + Hirt, Alois, 36. + + Homer, 10, 240. + + Horace, 136, 199 _sq._, 231, 239 _sq._ + + Hugo, Victor, 279 _sq._ + + Humboldt, Karl Wilhelm, Baron von, 257. + + Huysum, Jan van, 62. + + + Iffland, August Wilhelm, 113. + + + Johnson, Samuel, 201. + + + Kant, Immanuel, 257. + + Kleist, Ewald Christian von, 240 _sq._ + + Kleist, Heinrich von, 126. + + Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlieb, 74, 112, 236, 244. + + König, Johann Ulrich von, 233 _sq._ + + Körner, Theodor, 251. + + + Laocoon, 22, 24 _sq._, 33 _sq._, 39, 42. + + Laugier, Marc Antoine, 14. + + Leonardo da Vinci, 68, 256. + + Lessing, 38, 112, 232, 236, 244, 257, 269. + + Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph, 206. + + Lichtwer, M. G., 232. + + Liscow, Christian Ludwig, 228. + + Lowell, James Russell, 179. + + + Mannerists, 36, 64, 67. + + Manzoni, Alessandro, 205, 253, 268. + + Matthisson, Friedrich von, 250. + + Menander, 275. + + Mérimeé, Prosper, 278 _sq._ + + Michelangelo, 68. + + Milton, 240. + + Molière, 212, 269, 272 _sq._ + + + Napoleon, 252. + + Nicolai, Christoph Friedrich, 201. + + Niebuhr, B. G., 293. + + Novel, the, 170. + + + Oeser, Adam Friedrich, 237. + + Originality, 255. + + + Perugino, 68. + + Pindar, 240. + + Plato, 256. + + Pope, Alexander, 239, 284. + + + Rabener, Gottlieb Wilhelm, 228 _sq._ + + Ramler, Karl Wilhelm, 235 _sq._, 242. + + Raphael, 68. + + Richardson, Samuel, 249. + + Romanticism, 179, 263, 277. + + Rubens, 69. + + Ruysch, Rachel, 62. + + + Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von, 267. + + Schiller, 38, 100, 104, 109 _sq._, 115 _sq._, 119 _sq._, 129, 184, 191, + 255, 257, 264 _sq._, 268, 272 _sq._, 282 _sq._, 292. + + Schlegel, August Wilhelm von, 257, 269, 276 _sq._ + + Schlegel, Friedrich von, 257, 269. + + Schlegel, Johann Elias, 239. + + Schroeder, Friedrich Ludwig, 124, 188 _sq._ + + Schubarth, Karl Ernst, 65. + + Scott, Sir Walter, 286 _sq._ + + Seylerin (i.e., Sophie Friedrike Seyler), 118. + + Shakespeare, 65 _sq._, 124, 127, 136, 145 _sq._, 171 _sq._, 181 _sq._, + 200 _sq._, 204, 209 _sq._, 225, 238, 254, 256, 268 _sq._, + 272, 275, 284. + + + Steevens, George, 193. + + Sterne, Laurence, 222, 256. + + Style, 61, 265. + + Sulzer, J. G., 200 _sq._ + + + Taschereau, J., 212. + + Theatre, see Drama. + + Thomson, James, 252. + + Tieck, Ludwig, 126 _sq._ + + + Uvaroff, Count, 137. + + + Villemain, Abel François, 97. + + Virgil, 34 _sq._, 240. + + Voss, Johann Heinrich, 262. + + + Wieland, Christoph Martin, 74, 86, 164, 236 _sq._, 292. + + Winckelmann, Johann Joachim, 38, 257. + + World Literature, 89 _sq._, 267. + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber’s note + +Italics in chapter headings and spelling of title of works were +standardized. Hyphenation was standardized where appropriate. + +Page number references in the index are as published in the original +publication and have not been checked for accuracy in this eBook. + +Spelling was retained as in the original except for the following +changes: + + Page vii: “Tieck’s _Dramaturgic_” “Ludwig Tieck’s _Dramaturgic_” + Page viii: “Subject-matter of Poetry” “Subject-Matter of Poetry” + Page 36: “with my possessessions” “with my possessions” + Page 89: “its aesthetic and ethical” “its æsthetic and ethical” + Page 166: “These s approaches” “These soft approaches” + Page 200: “Cymbelline, a Trageay” “Cymbelline, a Tragedy” + Page 207: “art of poety ever” “art of poetry ever” + Page 244: “and the stubborness” “and the stubbornness” + Page 255: “made many distiches” “made many distichs” + Page 291: “of the compatability” “of the compatibility” + Page 292: “elsewhere Sainte-Beauve” “elsewhere Sainte-Beuve” + Page 297: “(complete translalation” “(complete translation” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76103 *** |