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diff --git a/76103-h/76103-h.htm b/76103-h/76103-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..16a4533 --- /dev/null +++ b/76103-h/76103-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11283 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Goethe’s Literary Essays | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +ul.index { list-style-type: none; } +li.ifrst { + margin-top: 1em; + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 1em; +} +li.indx { + margin-top: .5em; + text-indent: -2em; + padding-left: 1em; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td { padding: 0.25em; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: 1px dashed;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +.author { + text-align: right; + margin-right: 20% + } + +.x-ebookmaker body {margin: 0;} +.x-ebookmaker-drop {color: inherit;} + +.ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } +.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } +.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } +.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } + +.fs { font-size: small; } + +p.hanging-indent1 { + padding-left: 2.25em; + text-indent: -2.25em; +} + +.tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; +padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; padding-left: .5em; +padding-right: .5em;} + + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp90 {width: 90%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp90 {width: 100%;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76103 ***</div> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h1>GOETHE’S LITERARY ESSAYS</h1> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GOETHE_AS_A_CRITIC">GOETHE AS A CRITIC</h2> +</div> + + +<p>“Goethe, the greatest of modern critics, the +greatest critic of all times.”—<span class="smcap">Sainte-Beuve.</span></p> + +<p>“That great and supreme critic.”—<span class="smcap">Matthew +Arnold.</span></p> + +<p>“Goethe, the most widely receptive of all +critics.”—<span class="smcap">James Russell Lowell.</span></p> + +<p>“Goethe, the master of all modern spirits.”—<span class="smcap">Taine.</span></p> + +<p>“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.”—<span class="smcap">Carlyle.</span></p> + +<p>“He is also a great critic; yet he always +said the best he could about an author. Good +critics are rarer than good authors.”—<span class="smcap">Tennyson.</span></p> + +<p>“The view of <i>Hamlet</i> scattered throughout +the book [<i>Wilhelm Meister</i>] 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?”—<span class="smcap">Friedrich +Schlegel.</span></p> + +<p>“I shall die ungoethed, I doubt, so far as +Poetry goes; I always believe he was Critic +and Philosopher.”—<span class="smcap">Edward Fitzgerald.</span></p> + +<p>“For the Goethe of <i>Faust</i>, of the great +lyrics, and of some other things, I have almost +unlimited admiration; but for the critical +Goethe I feel very much less.”—<span class="smcap">George Saintsbury.</span></p> + +<p>“Goethe is the supreme hero of intellectual +humanity.”—<span class="smcap">Remy de Gourmont.</span></p> + +<p>“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.”—<span class="smcap">Lord Morley.</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="ph2"> +GOETHE’S<br> +LITERARY ESSAYS</p> +<p class="ph3"> +A SELECTION IN ENGLISH<br> +ARRANGED BY</p> +<p class="ph2"> +J. E. SPINGARN</p> +<p class="ph3"> +WITH A FOREWORD BY<br> +VISCOUNT HALDANE</p> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp90" id="i_title_decor" style="width: 6.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_title_decor.jpg" alt="logo"> +</figure> + +<p class="ph3"> +NEW YORK</p> +<p class="ph2"> +HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY</p> +<p class="ph3"> +1921 +</p> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="ph4"> +COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY<br> +HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.<br> +<br> +PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY<br> +THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY<br> +RAHWAY, N. J.<br> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOREWORD">FOREWORD</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">By <span class="smcap">Viscount Haldane</span></p> + + +<p>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 <i>Faust</i>, +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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</span>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 <i>Autobiography</i>, to +<i>Meister</i>, and to the <i>Prose Sayings</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">I.</td> +<td class="tdl">THE THEORY OF ART</td> +<td class="tdr"><p class="fs"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></p></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">On German Architecture</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Introduction to the <i>Propylæa</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Upon the Laocoon</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">The Collector and his Friends</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">On Truth and Probability in Works of Art</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Simple Imitation of Nature, Manner, Style</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Ancient and Modern</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Notes on Dilettantism</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">II.</td> +<td class="tdl">THE THEORY OF LITERATURE</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">The Production of a National Classic</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Goethe’s Theory of a World Literature</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">On Epic and Dramatic Poetry</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Supplement to Aristotle’s <i>Poetics</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">On the German Theatre</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Ludwig Tieck’s <i>Dramaturgic Fragments</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">On Didactic Poetry</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Superstition and Poetry</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">The Methods of French Criticism</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">On Criticism</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">III.</td> +<td class="tdl">ON SHAKESPEARE</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Wilhelm Meister’s Critique of <i>Hamlet</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Shakespeare ad Infinitum</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_174">174</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">The First Edition of <i>Hamlet</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_190">190</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl"><i>Troilus and Cressida</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">IV.</td> +<td class="tdl">ON OTHER WRITERS</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Goethe as a Young Reviewer</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Byron’s <i>Manfred</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_202">202</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Byron’s <i>Don Juan</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Calderon’s <i>Daughter of the Air</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_208">208</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Molière’s <i>Misanthrope</i></td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Old German Folksongs</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Folksongs again Commended</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_220">220</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">Laurence Sterne</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_222">222</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">The English Reviewers</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_224">224</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">German Literature in Goethe’s Youth</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_226">226</a><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr">V.</td> +<td class="tdl">EXTRACTS FROM THE CONVERSATIONS WITH ECKERMANN</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">The Universality of Poetry, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>; Poetry and<br> +Patriotism, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>; Poetry and History, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>; Originality,<br> +<a href="#Page_255">255</a>; Personality in Art, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>; Subject-Matter<br> +of Poetry, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>; The Influence of Environment,<br> +<a href="#Page_261">261</a>; Culture and Morals, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>;<br> +Classic and Romantic, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>; Taste, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>; Style,<br> +<a href="#Page_265">265</a>; Intellect and Imagination, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>; Definition<br> +of Poetry, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>; Definition of Beauty, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>;<br> +Architecture and Music, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>; Primitive Poetry,<br> +<a href="#Page_267">267</a>; <i>Weltliteratur</i>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>; French Critics, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>; The<br> +Construction of a Good Play, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>; Dramatic<br> +Unities <a href="#Page_270">270</a>; The Theatre, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>; Acting, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>;<br> +Dramatic Situations, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>; Management of the<br> +Theatre, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>; Menander, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>; Calderon, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>;<br> +Molière, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>; Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>; A. W. Schlegel’s<br> +<i>Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature</i>,<br> +<a href="#Page_276">276</a>; The French Romanticists, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>; Victor<br> +Hugo, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>; The “Idea” of <i>Tasso</i> and <i>Faust</i>,<br> +<a href="#Page_280">280</a>; Schiller, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>; <i>Edinburgh Review</i>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>;<br> +Byron, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>; Scott, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">APPENDIX</td> +<td></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl"> I. On the Selection and Translation of the Essays in this Volume</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_291">291</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">II. On the Chronology of Goethe’s Critical Studies</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_295">295</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td></td> +<td class="tdl">INDEX</td> +<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_301">301</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_THEORY_OF_ART">THE THEORY OF ART</h2> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_GERMAN_ARCHITECTURE">ON GERMAN ARCHITECTURE</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1773)</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Von Deutscher Baukunst</span></p> + +<p class="ph3">D. M.</p> + +<p class="ph3"><span class="smcap">Ervini a Steinbach</span></p> + + +<p>As I wandered about at your grave, noble Erwin,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>To few has it been granted to create such mighty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span></p> +<p>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 <i>felt</i> more than you +<i>measured</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>More harmful to the genius than examples are rules. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>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! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>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!”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But you I would accompany, dear youth, who stand +there, your soul moved, and yet unable to harmonize +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>How hateful our varnished doll-painters are to me I +cannot express. By their theatrical positions, their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>Prometheus, carry down the rapture of the gods to the +earth.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Erwin von Steinbach, one of the architects of the Strassburg +Cathedral.</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> “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 <i>On German Architecture</i> 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 <i>German Manner and Art</i>.”—Goethe, +<i>Autobiography</i> (1812). The “dear abbé” to whom +Goethe is replying in this essay is the Abbé Laugier, author of +the <i>Essai sur l’Architecture</i> (1753).</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTION_TO_THE_PROPYL_A">INTRODUCTION TO THE <i>PROPYLÆA</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1798)</p> + + +<p>There is no more striking sign of the decay of art +than when we find its separate provinces mixed up together.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>deplored that excellent artists have in more recent times +taken this direction.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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, <i>vice +versa</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p><h2 class="nobreak" id="UPON_THE_LAOCOON">UPON THE LAOCOON</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1798)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The highest works of art that we know exhibit to +us—</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span></p> +<p><i>Living, highly organized natures.</i> 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.</p> + +<p><i>Character.</i> 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—</p> + +<p><i>At rest, or in motion.</i> 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.</p> + +<p><i>Ideal.</i> 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.</p> + +<p><i>Agreeableness.</i> 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.</p> + +<p><i>Beauty.</i> 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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, many will think I am uttering +a paradox when I maintain that the work is also +<i>agreeable</i>. A word upon this point.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>changed again; so that it presents a fresh, living image +to a million beholders.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>does not bite</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>expressed not only by the flowers that she lets fall, but +by the direction of her limbs and the doubtful fluttering +of her dress.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>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 <i>dramatis personae</i>!</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Finally, a word concerning this subject in its connection +with poetry.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>and loathsome story, is willing to let the horse be +brought into the city.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_COLLECTOR_AND_HIS_FRIENDS">THE COLLECTOR AND HIS FRIENDS</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1799)</p> + + +<p>Yesterday a stranger made his appearance, whose +name I was already familiar with, and who has the +reputation of a skilful connoisseur.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> 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.</p> + +<p>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....</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>I answered that I was not aware of any higher.</p> + +<p>Can you tell me what Beauty is? he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 (<i>Schönheit</i>) comes +from show (<i>Schein</i>); 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>form itself; still less does it bring about that last +appearance which, as the veil and integument of an +organized whole, we call Beauty.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Can you then clearly express in words the effect +that a colored body produces on your eyes?</p> + +<p><i>He.</i>—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.</p> + +<p>Our Philosopher<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> 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:</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p><i>He.</i>—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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Propylæa</i>, who are of just +the opposite mind.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>I was confounded by this assertion, for only a short +time before I had been looking at the copperplates +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>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.</p> + +<p><i>He.</i>—Let us turn to the bas-reliefs, which we shall +find at the end of the book.</p> + +<p>We turned to them.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>and perfected, and over his earthly greatness has +breathed a heavenly grace.</p> + +<p>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....</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Will you allow me also to put in a word?</p> + +<p><i>The guest</i> (somewhat scornfully.)—With all my +heart, and I hope nothing about mere phantoms.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—I have some acquaintance with the poetry of the +ancients, but have little knowledge of the plastic +arts.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—That I regret; for in that case we can hardly +come to an understanding.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—And yet the fine arts are nearly related, and +the friends of the separate arts should not misunderstand +each other.</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i>—Let us hear what you have to say.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—They are passably good. They convey an +imperfect but not a false impression.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Well, then, to that extent we can take them for a +ground to go upon.</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i>—What is it you assert of the treatment of +the ancient tragic writers?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> +<p><i>I.</i>—The subjects they chose, especially in the early +times, were often of an unbearable frightfulness.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Were the ancient fables insupportably +frightful?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Undoubtedly; in the same manner as your account +of the Laocoon.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Did you find that also unbearable?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—I ask pardon. I meant the thing you describe, +not your description.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And the work itself also?</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—You use strong expressions.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—One may do that as well as another.</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i>—Now then for the ancient tragedies.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Yes, these insupportable subjects.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Very good; but also this manner of treatment +that makes everything endurable, beautiful, graceful.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And that is effected by means of “simplicity +and serene greatness?”</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—So it appears.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—By the softening principle of Beauty?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—It can be nothing else.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And the old tragedies were after all not +frightful?</p> + +<p><i>I.</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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>place we had seen the actual circumstances, then even +the tragedies of Sophocles can be described as loathsome +and horrible.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—I will not pass judgment on poetry.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Nor I on plastic art.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Yes, it is best for each to stick to his own +department.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—And yet there is a common point of union for +all the arts wherefrom the laws of all proceed.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And that is—</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—The soul of man.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Here is no question of any metaphysical dispute.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—If there were I should certainly decline it.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Where does all this tend?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—You yourself, when you make Character the end +of art, appoint the understanding, which takes cognizance +of the characteristic, as the judge.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—To be sure I do. What I cannot seize with +my understanding does not exist for me.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>the work of art is to address itself. It must speak to +this rich unity, this simple variety in him.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Don’t carry me with you into these labyrinths, +for who could ever help us out again?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—It will then be best for us to give up the dispute +and each retain his position.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—I shall at least hold fast to mine.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Propose it then.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—We will for a moment contemplate art in its +origin.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Good.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Let us accompany the work of art on its road +to perfection.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—You allow me to begin at the beginning?</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—With all my heart.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—A man feels an inclination for some object; let us +suppose a single living being.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—As, for instance, this pretty lap-dog.</p> + +<p><i>Julia.</i>—Come, Bello! It is no small honor to serve +as example in such a discussion.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> +<p><i>Guest.</i>—I will not interrupt, but wait and see what +is to become of this.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Bravo! That is just my man, and his work +must be characteristic.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—No doubt.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And there I would stop and go no farther.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—But we go beyond this.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—I stop here.</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i>—I will go along for the sake of experiment.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—By this operation we may arrive at a canon useful +indeed, and scientifically valuable, but not satisfactory +to the soul of man.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—-How then are you going to satisfy the fantastic +demands of this dear soul?</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—We are getting into a dark region.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—There is only one light that can aid us here.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And that is?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Reason.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> +<p><i>Guest.</i>—How far it be a guide or a will-o’-wisp is +hard to say.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—I begin to be at a loss to comprehend you.</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i>—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?</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—It would depend.</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i>—I say, No! The artist must first impart to +him something beyond all this.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—What then?</p> + +<p><i>Uncle.</i>—It is hard to express.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—So I should think.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—And yet something may be done by approximation.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—To it then.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—He must give to the eagle what he gave to Jupiter, +in order to make him into a God.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And this is—</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—The Godlike,—which in truth we should never +become acquainted with, did not man feel and himself +reproduce it.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—I continue to hold my ground, and let you +ascend into the clouds. I see that you mean to indicate +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>the high style of the Greeks, which I prize only +so far as it is characteristic.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—It is something more to us, however; it answers +to a high demand, but still not the highest.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—You seem to be very hard to satisfy.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Have you done?</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.)</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—It is the custom of you philosophic gentlemen +to engage in battle behind high-sounding words, as +if it were an ægis.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> +<p><i>I.</i>—I can assure you that I have not now been speaking +as a philosopher. These are mere matters of experience.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Do you call that experience, whereof another +can comprehend nothing?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—To every experience belongs an organ.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Do you mean a separate one?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Not a separate one; but it must have one peculiarity.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—And what is that?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—It must be able to produce.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—Produce what?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—The experience! There is no experience which +is not brought forth, produced, created.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—This is too much!</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—This is particularly the case with artists.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—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!</p> + +<p><i>I.</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.</p> + +<p><i>Guest</i> (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!</p> + +<p><i>I.</i>—Unfortunately, I am quite in earnest, and cannot +come to any other conclusion.</p> + +<p><i>Guest.</i>—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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>in your dispute. Farewell, Mademoiselle! Farewell, +Sir! I shall inquire to-morrow whether I may +wait on you again.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>Julia.</i>—I see it is your intention to bribe me. That +will not be hard, for I like to listen to you.</p> + +<p><i>I.</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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>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.</p> + +<p>The maid returned from lighting the stranger. She +was highly satisfied with his liberality, for he had given +her a handsome <i>pourboire</i>; but she praised his politeness +still more highly, for he had dismissed her with +a friendly word, and, moreover, called her “Pretty +Maid.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Alois Hirt, protagonist of the theory of the “characteristic.”</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> Schiller.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_TRUTH_AND_PROBABILITY_IN_WORKS">ON TRUTH AND PROBABILITY IN WORKS +OF ART</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3"><i>A Dialogue</i></p> + +<p class="ph3">(1798)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>The Agent of the Artist.</i>—Let us see if we cannot +by some means agree more nearly.</p> + +<p><i>The Spectator.</i>—I do not see how such a representation +can be defended.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Tell me, when you go into a theatre, do you +not expect all you see to be true and real?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—By no means! I only ask that what I +see shall appear true and real.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Pardon me if I contradict even your inmost +conviction and maintain this is by no means the thing +you demand.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>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?</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—I should say that you have advanced a +subtlety that is little more than a play upon words.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Very good. Only explain yourself more +fully, and, if you will oblige me, by examples.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Yes, when everything is in harmony, one +of the most complete I know.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—But when the good people there meet and +compliment each other with a song, sing from billets +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>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?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—In fact, when I consider, I could not +say it had. None of these things seems true.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—And yet you are completely pleased and +satisfied with the exhibition?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—And you do not then at the opera experience +a complete deception?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Deception, that is not the proper word,—and +yet, yes!—But no—</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Here you are in a complete contradiction, +which is far worse than a quibble.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Let us proceed quietly; we shall soon +see light.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—As soon as we come into the light, we shall +agree. Having reached this point, will you allow me +to ask you some questions?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—It is your duty, having questioned me +into this dilemma, to question me out again.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—The feeling you have at the exhibition of +an opera cannot be rightly called deception?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—I agree. Still it is a sort of deception; +something nearly allied to it.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Tell me, do you not almost forget yourself?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Not almost, but quite, when the whole +or some part is excellent.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—You are enchanted?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—It has happened more than once.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Can you explain under what circumstances?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Under so many, it would be hard to +tell.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Yet you have already told when it is most +apt to happen, namely, when all is in harmony.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Undoubtedly.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Did this complete representation harmonize +with itself or some other natural product?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—With itself, certainly.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—And this harmony was a work of art?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—It must have been.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—But yet it has so often the air of a work +of nature.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—That I cannot deny. But may I on the +other hand be equally frank?</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Why not? our business is not now with +compliments.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Your remark is curious; but proceed.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—You would not let it pass unless you had +yourself attained a higher step.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Let me now make trial, and take the +place of questioner, in order to arrange and advance +our subject.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—I shall like that better still.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—You say that a work of art could appear +as a work of nature only to an uncultivated person?</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Certainly. You remember the birds that +tried to eat the painted cherries of the great master?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Now does not that show that the +cherries were admirably painted?</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—By no means. It rather convinces me that +these connoisseurs were true sparrows.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—I cannot, however, for this reason concede +that this work could have been other than excellent.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Shall I tell you a more modern story?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—I would rather listen to stories than +arguments.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—It is a droll story.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—And seasonable, I hope. You would not +compare these colored copperplates with the work of +so great an artist?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—No, indeed.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—But you would reckon the ape among the +uncultivated amateurs?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—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?</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—I am entirely of that opinion.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—And you maintain, therefore, that an +artist lowers himself when he tries to produce this +effect?</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Such is my firm conviction.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—But here again I feel a contradiction. +You did me just now the honor to number me, at least, +among the half-cultivated spectators.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Among those who are on the way to become +true connoisseurs.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Then explain to me, Why does a perfect +work of art appear like a work of nature to me +also?</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—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.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>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.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—Fortunately, the opera is repeated to-night; +I trust you will not miss it.</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—On no account.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—And the painted men?</p> + +<p><i>Spectator.</i>—Shall not drive me away, for I think +myself something more than a sparrow.</p> + +<p><i>Agent.</i>—I hope that a mutual interest may soon +bring us together again.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SIMPLE_IMITATION_OF_NATURE">SIMPLE IMITATION OF NATURE, +MANNER, STYLE</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1789)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Simple Imitation of Nature</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Manner</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>We see that this species of imitation is applied with +the best effect in cases where a great whole comprehends +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Style</i></p> + +<p>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 <i>Style</i> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It is easy to see that these three several ways of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>producing works of art are closely related, and that +one may imperceptibly run into the others.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>proportion as he leaves behind simple imitation and +style.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ANCIENT_AND_MODERN">ANCIENT AND MODERN</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1818)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A young friend, Karl Ernst Schubarth, in his +pamphlet, <i>A Critique on Goethe</i>, 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>taking heed lest I accept for plain truth what is only +an exhibition of plain error.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>of happiest development or narrowest limitation, +and to maintain the stubbornness, if it could not +always the highest dignity, of human existence.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Greek</i>!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p><h2 class="nobreak" id="NOTES_ON_DILETTANTISM">NOTES ON DILETTANTISM</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1799)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The Dilettante does not hold the same relation to all +the arts.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Art itself gives laws, and commands the time.</p> + +<p>Dilettantism follows the lead of the time.</p> + +<p>When masters in art follow a false taste, the Dilettante +expects so much the sooner to reach the level +of art.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>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.</p> + +<p>The <i>speaking to the feelings</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The peculiar want of the Dilettante is <i>Architectonic</i>, +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.</p> + +<p>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 (<i>accuratesse</i>), and all the last conditions of +Form, which can just as well accompany the formless.</p> + +<p>General principles on which Dilettantism is allowable:—</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>retreat, he has prepared the surest path to connoisseurship.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Dilettantism in Lyrical Poetry</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The cultivation of French literature and language +has made even Dilettanti more artistic.</p> + +<p>The French were always more rigorous, tended to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>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.</p> + +<p>Impudence of the latest Dilettantism, originated and +maintained through reminiscences of a richly cultivated +poetic dialect, and the facility of a good mechanical +exterior.</p> + +<p>Polite literature of universities, induced by a modern +method of study.—Lady poems.—Schöngeisterei +(bel esprit).—Annual <i>Keepsakes</i>.—Musenalmanache.—Journals.—Beginning +and spread of translations.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Dilettantism in Pragmatic Poetry</i></p> + +<p>Reasons why the Dilettante hates the powerful, the +passionate, the characteristic, and only represents the +middling, the moral.</p> + +<p>The Dilettante never paints the object, but only the +feeling it gives rise to in him.</p> + +<p>He avoids the character of the object.</p> + +<p>All Dilettante creations in this style of poetry will +have a pathological character, and express only the +attractions and repulsions felt by their author.</p> + +<p>The Dilettante thinks to reach poetry by means of +his wits.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> +<p>Dramatic botchers go mad when they desire to give +effect to their work.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Dilettantism in Dramatic Art</i></p> + +<p>French comedy is, even among amateurs, <i>obligato</i>, +and a social institution.</p> + +<p>Italian amateur-comedy is founded on a puppet, or +puppet-like, representation.</p> + +<p>Germany, in former times, Jesuit-schools.</p> + +<p>In later times: French amateur comedies, for aiding +the cultivation of the language, in noble houses.</p> + +<p>Mixing up of ranks in German amateur-comedy.</p> + +<p>Conditions, under which, perhaps, a moderate practice +in theatrical matters may be harmless and allowable, +or even in some measure advantageous:</p> + +<p>Permanence of the same company.</p> + +<p>To avoid passionate pieces, and choose such as are +reflective and social.</p> + +<p>To admit no children or very young persons.</p> + +<p>Greatest possible strictness in outward forms.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Advantages of Dilettantism in General</i></p> + +<p>It prevents an entire want of cultivation.</p> + +<p>Dilettantism is a necessary consequence of a general +extension of art, and may even be a cause of it.</p> + +<p>It can, under certain circumstances, help to excite +and develop a true artistic talent.</p> + +<p>Elevates handicraft to a certain resemblance to art.</p> + +<p>Has a civilizing tendency.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> +<p>Gives occupation to productive power, and cultivates +something serious in man.</p> + +<p>Appearances are changed into ideas.</p> + +<p>Teaches to analyze impressions.</p> + +<p>Aids the appropriation and reproduction of forms.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>In Lyrical Poetry</i></p> + +<p>Cultivation of language in general.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Cultivation of the feelings and of the verbal expression +of the same.</p> + +<p>The cultivated man ought to be able to express his +feelings with poetic beauty.</p> + +<p>Idealization of concepts regarding objects of common +life. Cultivation of the imagination, especially as +an integral part of the culture of the intellect.</p> + +<p>Awaking and direction of the productive imagination +to the highest functions of the mind in the sciences and +practical life.</p> + +<p>Cultivation of the sense of the rhythmical.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>survey the field of poetic literature even more perfectly +than is required of the artist himself.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>In the Dramatic Art</i></p> + +<p>Opportunity of farther cultivation in declamation.</p> + +<p>Attention to one’s own representations.</p> + +<p>Participates in the advantages predicated of Dancing.</p> + +<p>Exercise of the Memory.</p> + +<p>Sensuous attention and accuracy.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Disadvantage of Dilettantism in General</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He departs more and more from the truth of objects, +and loses himself in subjective errors.</p> + +<p>Dilettantism deprives art of its element, and spoils +art’s public by depriving it of its earnestness and +strictness.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>With Dilettantism the loss is always greater than the +gain.</p> + +<p>From handicraft the way is open to rise to art, but +not from botch-work.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> +<p>Dilettantism favors the indifferent, partial, and +characterless.</p> + +<p>Injury Dilettanti do to art by bringing artists down +to their level.</p> + +<p>Can bear no good artist near them.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>In Lyrical Poetry</i></p> + +<p>Belletristic shallowness and emptiness, withdrawal +from solid studies, or superficial treatment.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>are injurious, but the former rather injures the art, +and the latter the subject.</p> + +<p>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 <i>style</i> and containing nothing. +In a word, all that is really beautiful and good in true +poetry is profaned, rendered common, and degraded.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>In Pragmatical Poetry</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Mixing up of different kinds.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>In Histrionic Art</i></p> + +<p>Caricature of one’s own faulty individuality.</p> + +<p>Incapacitates the mind for all occupation, through +the illusion of a fantastic mode of viewing objects.</p> + +<p>Expense of interest and passion, without fruit.</p> + +<p>Eternal circle of monotonous, ever repeated, ineffectual +activity.</p> + +<p>(There is nothing so attractive to Dilettanti as +rehearsals. Professional actors hate them.)</p> + +<p>Special forbearance and pampering of theatrical +Dilettanti with applause.</p> + +<p>Eternal stimulation towards a passionate condition +and behavior, without balance.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> +<p>Feeding all hateful passions, with the worst results +for civic and domestic existence.</p> + +<p>Blunting the feeling for poetry.</p> + +<p>Use of exalted language for commonplace sentiments.</p> + +<p>A rag-fair of thoughts, commonplaces, and descriptions +in the memory.</p> + +<p>Pervading affectation and mannerism, reaching also +into life.</p> + +<p>Most injurious indulgence towards the indifferent +and faulty, in a public and quite personal case.</p> + +<p>The general tolerance for the home-made becomes in +this case more pronounced.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_THEORY_OF_LITERATURE">THE THEORY OF LITERATURE</h2> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span></p><h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_PRODUCTION_OF_A_NATIONAL_CLASSIC5">THE PRODUCTION OF A NATIONAL CLASSIC<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Literarischer Sansculottismus</i>)</p> + +<p class="ph3">(1795)</p> + + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>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?</p> + +<p>For foreign customs and literatures, irrespective of +the many advantages they have contributed to the advancement +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>of the higher classes, have prevented the +Germans from developing sooner as Germans.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>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.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> 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.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GOETHES_THEORY_OF_A_WORLD">GOETHE’S THEORY OF A WORLD +LITERATURE</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="ph3">I (1827)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>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 +<i>one</i> in the sense that it is composed in <i>one</i> 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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">II (1827)</p> + +<p>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:</p> + + +<p><i>Le Globe</i>, Tome V., No. 91.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>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 <i>it</i> 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.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Of the first of these English journals, <i>The Foreign +Quarterly Review</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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 (<i>Taschenbücher</i>), 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">III (1828)</p> + +<p>The <i>Edinburgh Review</i>, as well as the current <i>Foreign</i> +and <i>Foreign Quarterly Reviews</i>, we can only mention +briefly here.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">IV (1829)</p> + +<p class="ph3">MORE ABOUT A WORLD LITERATURE</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The Difficulties</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The wide world, extensive as it is, is only an expanded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The Encouragements</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>oneself out for the sake of the favor of to-day brings no +profit for to-morrow or after.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Other Considerations</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Cours d’histoire +moderne</i>, Villemain’s <i>Cours de littérature française</i>, +and Cousin’s <i>Cours de l’histoire de la philosophie</i>. +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 <i>Le Globe</i>, <i>La Revue française</i>, +and the daily, <i>Le Temps</i>. 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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">V</p> + +<p class="ph3">(1830)</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_EPIC_AND_DRAMATIC_POETRY6">ON EPIC AND DRAMATIC POETRY<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1797)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There are five kinds of motives:</p> + +<p>(1) Progressive, which advance the action. These +the drama uses preëminently.</p> + +<p>(2) Retrogressive, which draw the action away from +its goal. These the epic poem uses almost exclusively.</p> + +<p>(3) Retarding, which delay the progress of the action +or lengthen its course. Both epic and tragic +poetry use these to very great advantage.</p> + +<p>(4) Retrospective, which introduce into the poem +events which happened before the time of the poem.</p> + +<p>(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.</p> + +<p>The worlds which are to be represented are common +to both, namely:—</p> + +<p>(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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>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.</p> + +<p>(2) The moral world, which is absolutely common +to both, and, whether normal or pathological, is best +represented in its simplicity.</p> + +<p>(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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>separate everything personal from his work, and may +believe we are hearing only the voice of the Muses.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> By Goethe and Schiller.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SUPPLEMENT_TO_ARISTOTLES_POETICS7">SUPPLEMENT TO ARISTOTLE’S <i>POETICS</i><a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1827)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>My thoughts and convictions in regard to this passage +I can best impart by a translation of it:—</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>spectator</i>? By no means! He speaks clearly and +definitely: When the course of action is one arousing +pity and fear, the tragedy must close <i>on the stage</i> with +an equilibration, a reconciliation, of these emotions.</p> + +<p>By “catharsis,” he understands this reconciling culmination, +which is demanded of all drama, indeed of all +poetical works.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Œdipus of Kolonus</i>, +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Politics</i> that music +could be made use of in education for ethical purposes, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>We now return to our original point, and repeat: +Aristotle speaks of the <i>technique</i> 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.</p> + +<p>If the poet has fulfilled this purpose and his duty +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>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.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> “I have just re-read the <i>Poetics</i> 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.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_THE_GERMAN_THEATRE">ON THE GERMAN THEATRE</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1815)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>A Plan of Schiller’s, and What Came of It</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Death of Wallenstein</i> was given oftener on all stages +than the <i>Camp</i> and the <i>Piccolomini</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Don Carlos</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>never really confine himself to the space of three hours.</p> + +<p><i>The Robbers</i>, <i>Intrigue and Love</i>, <i>Fiesco</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>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.</p> + +<p>In order then to found the German Theatre on true +German soil, it was Schiller’s intention to revise Klopstock’s +<i>Hermanns Schlacht</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>Towards Lessing’s work Schiller had a singular attitude. +He did not care particularly for it,—indeed, +<i>Emilia Galotti</i> was repugnant to him. Yet this tragedy +as well as <i>Minna von Barnhelm</i> was accepted in the +repertory. He then devoted himself to <i>Nathan der +Weise</i>, and in this revision, in which he was glad to +have the coöperation of discerning friends, the piece +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>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.</p> + +<p>The presence of the distinguished Iffland in 1796 +gave occasion for the shortening of <i>Egmont</i> 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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Egmont</i></p> + +<p class="ph3">(<i>First Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>his men, and threatens the trouble-maker. He exhibits +himself as an honored and popular prince.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Second Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Third Act</i>)</p> + +<p>The citizens in fear of the impending danger; the +lawyer foretells Egmont’s fate; the Spanish watch enters, +and the people scatter.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Fourth Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Fifth Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 <i>Stella</i>, +which also owes its appearance in the theatre to Schiller.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>Die Laune des Verliebten</i> 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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>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. +<i>Stella</i> is also at present well received in Berlin.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Emilia Galotti</i> is quite another play; the Prince is exonerated +as soon as one realizes that so powerful and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>imperious a person is the encumbrance upon his shoulders.</p> + +<p>We turn now to the <i>Mitschuldigen</i>. 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 <i>Die Laune des Verliebten</i>, in March, 1805. Schiller +made many suggestions for the production, but he did +not live to see the <i>Raetsel</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>Iphigenia</i>, not without some abbreviation, was put +on the Weimar stage as early as 1802; <i>Tasso</i> 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.</p> + +<p>Finally we shall mention <i>Goetz von Berlichingen</i>, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Goetz von Berlichingen</i></p> + +<p class="ph3">(<i>First Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Second Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Third Act</i>)</p> + +<p>Two merchants appear in the pleasure-gardens at +Augsburg. Maximilian, vexed, refuses to see them. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>Weislingen encourages them, and makes use of the opportunity +to influence the Emperor against Goetz and +other unruly knights.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Fourth Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Weislingen’s and Adelaide’s dwelling in Augsburg. +Night. Adelaide’s masked ball. It is noticeable that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>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.</p> + +<p>Tavern at Heilbronn. The Town Hall there. +Goetz’s daring and boldness. Sickingen releases him. +The familiar scenes are left in.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">(<i>Fifth Act</i>)</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>A secret judgment is issued against him. Goetz +flees to the gipsies and is captured by the Imperial +troops.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span></p><h2 class="nobreak" id="LUDWIG_TIECKS_DRAMATURGIC">LUDWIG TIECK’S <i>DRAMATURGIC +FRAGMENTS</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1826)</p> + + +<p>My mind has been stimulated in many ways by this +noteworthy book.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I also agree with him willingly when, as champion +for the unity, indivisibility and inviolability of Shakespeare’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>plays, he wants to have them put on the stage +without revision or modification from beginning to end.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It is in the nature of the case, and Tieck himself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>An important paper is Tieck’s explanation of the +<i>Piccolomini</i> and the <i>Wallenstein</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>Most of the places where Tieck finds something to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>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 +<i>Wallenstein</i> 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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_DIDACTIC_POETRY">ON DIDACTIC POETRY</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1827)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>No more singular undertaking could easily be thought +of than to turn the geology of a district into a didactic, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SUPERSTITION_AND_POETRY">SUPERSTITION AND POETRY</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1823)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_METHODS_OF_FRENCH_CRITICISM">THE METHODS OF FRENCH CRITICISM</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="ph3">I (1817)</p> + +<p>A wealth of terms for unfavorable criticism:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>A. abandonnée, absurde, arrogance, astuce.</p> + +<p>B. bafoué, bête, bêtise, bouffissure, bouquin, bourgeois, +boursouflure, boutade, brisé, brutalité.</p> + +<p>C. cabale, cagot, canaille, carcan, clique, contraire, +créature.</p> + +<p>D. déclamatoire, décrié, dégoût, dénigrement, dépourvu, +déprayé, désobligeant, détestable, diabolique, +dur.</p> + +<p>E. échoppe, enflure, engouement, ennui, ennuyeux, +énorme, entortillé, éphémères, épluché, espèce, +étourneau.</p> + +<p>F. factice, fadaise, faible, fainéant, fané, fastidieux, +fatigant, fatuité, faux, forcé, fou, +fourré, friperie, frivole, furieux.</p> + +<p>G. gâte, gauchement, gaucher, grimace, grossier, +grossièrement.</p> + +<p>H. haillons, honnêtement, honte, horreur.</p> + +<p>I. imbécile, impertinence, impertinent, impuissant, +incorrection, indécis, indéterminé, indifférence, +indignités, inégalité, inguérissable, insipide, +insipidité, insoutenable, intolérant, jouets, irréfléchi.</p> + +<p>L. laquais, léger, lésine, louche, lourd.</p> + +<p>M. maladresse, manque, maroud, mauvais, médiocre, +mépris, méprise, mignardise, mordant.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span></p> +<p>N. négligé, négligence, noirceur, non-soin.</p> + +<p>O. odieux.</p> + +<p>P. passable, pauvreté, pénible, petites-maisons, peupropre, +pie-grièche, pitoyable, plat, platitude, +pompeux, précieux, puérilités.</p> + +<p>R. rapsodie, ratatiné, rebattu, réchauffé, redondance, +rétréci, révoltant, ridicule, roquet.</p> + +<p>S. sans succès, sifflets, singerie, somnifère, soporifique, +sottise, subalterne.</p> + +<p>T. terrassé, tombée, traînée, travers, triste.</p> + +<p>V. vague, vexé, vide, vieillerie, volumineux.</p> +</div> + +<p>A scanty store for praise:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>A. animé, applaudie.</p> + +<p>B. brillant.</p> + +<p>C. charmant, correct.</p> + +<p>E. esprit.</p> + +<p>F. facile, finesse.</p> + +<p>G. goût, grâce, gracieux, grave.</p> + +<p>I. invention, justesse.</p> + +<p>L. léger, légèreté, libre.</p> + +<p>N. nombreux.</p> + +<p>P. piquant, prodigieux, pur.</p> + +<p>R. raisonnable.</p> + +<p>S. spirituel.</p> + +<p>V. verve.</p> +</div> + +<p>“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! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>Swiftly we catch and seize the gifts of life as they fleet +by us.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Nibelungen</i> with the <i>Iliad</i>.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The favorable opinion which an excellent foreign +writer has concerning us Germans may be appropriately +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>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 <i>Nonnus of Panopolis, +the Poet</i> (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.”</p> + +<p>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!</p> + + +<p class="ph3">II (1820)</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>favorable words. In connection with this, the <i>Vrai +Liberal</i> 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.</p> + +<p>I admit without hesitation that the Brussels correspondent +of the <i>Vrai Liberal</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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, <i>The Nun</i>, <i>Jacques the Fatalist</i>, +etc., were by degrees inserted in such small portions +that curiosity, attention, and eagerness were kept alive +from number to number.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_CRITICISM">ON CRITICISM</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1821-24)</p> + + +<p class="ph3">I</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">II</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">III</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">IV</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_SHAKESPEARE">ON SHAKESPEARE</h2> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="WILHELM_MEISTERS_CRITIQUE_OF_HAMLET">WILHELM MEISTER’S CRITIQUE OF <i>HAMLET</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1795)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”...</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>“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.</p> + +<p>“You all know Shakespeare’s incomparable <i>Hamlet</i>; +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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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....</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> +<p>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 <i>Hamlet</i>, which play had busied him so much of late.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>Hamlet</i> 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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Serlo looked at his sister, and said: “Did I give thee +a false picture of our friend? He begins well: he has +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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!</p> + +<p>“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,—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘The time is out of joint: O cursed spite,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That ever I was born to set it right!’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>Hamlet</i>? 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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>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 <i>Hamlet</i>: on the other hand, I +believe there never was a grander one invented; nay, +it is not invented, it is real.”</p> + +<p>“How do you demonstrate that?” inquired Serlo.</p> + +<p>“I will not demonstrate anything,” said Wilhelm; +“I will merely show you what my own conceptions of +it are.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>Hamlet</i> 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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>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.’ ...”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>equals, simply because they were there, and in motion +like yourself.”</p> + +<p>“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....”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 <i>Hamlet</i> +should be played entire and unmutilated: the other +had agreed to this strange stipulation, in so far as it +was <i>possible</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>im</i>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 <i>Hamlet</i>, +would need to suffer much curtailment.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“That is not our bargain,” answered Wilhelm. +“How can you, with all your taste, show so much +levity?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>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?”</p> + +<p>“Is!” cried Wilhelm; “but <i>must</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>Serlo gave a merry turn to the business, and persuaded +him to review once more the many conversations +they had had together about <i>Hamlet</i>, and himself to +invent some means of properly reforming the piece.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Let us hear,” said Serlo, placing himself with an +air of solemnity upon the sofa: “I will listen calmly, +but judge with rigor.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“For once in the right!” cried Serlo.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And this?” inquired Serlo, springing up from his +recumbent posture.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>fancy</i> anything: the rest he will <i>see</i>; the rest +takes place before him; whereas his imagination, on +the other plan, was hunted over all the world.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span>play: no one must survive. The right of popular election +now again comes in force; and Hamlet, while dying, +gives his vote to Horatio.”</p> + +<p>“Quick! quick!” said Serlo, “sit down and work +the play: your plan has my entire approbation; only +let not your zeal evaporate.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Wilhelm had already been for some time busied with +translating <i>Hamlet</i>; 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>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....”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Though in this remolding of <i>Hamlet</i> many characters +had been cut off, a sufficient number of them still +remained,—a number which the company was scarcely +adequate to meet.</p> + +<p>“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....”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“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.’”</p> + +<p>“One requires your eagerness,” said Serlo, “before +he can employ every object in the use it was meant +for.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well! That is what I cannot understand,” observed +Aurelia.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> +<p>“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 <i>first</i> 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 <i>second</i> 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!”</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“‘Oh, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Is it not monstrous that this player here,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Could force his soul so to his own conceit,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That, from her working, all his visage wann’d;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A broken voice, and his whole function suiting</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For Hecuba!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That he should weep for her?’” ...</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“In the first place,” answered Wilhelm, “he is fair-haired.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p> +<p>“That I call far-fetched,” observed Aurelia. “How +do you infer that?”</p> + +<p>“As a Dane, as a Northman, he is fair-haired and +blue-eyed by descent.”</p> + +<p>“And you think Shakespeare had this in view?”</p> + +<p>“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, ‘<i>He’s fat, and scant of breath.</i>’ +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.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>succedancum</i> +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.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“About their limits and their kinds,” said Wilhelm, +“I confess myself not altogether clear.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> +<p>“Who <i>is</i> so?” said the other; “and yet perhaps it +were worth while to come a little closer to the business.”</p> + +<p>They conversed together long upon the matter; and, +in fine, the following was nearly the result of their +discussion:—</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“But, in the novel, it is chiefly <i>sentiments</i> and <i>events</i> +that are exhibited; in the drama, it is <i>characters</i> and +<i>deeds</i>. 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.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>These considerations led them back to the play of +<i>Hamlet</i>, 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....</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>There were several other points of this sort, about +which we shall, perhaps, elsewhere have opportunity +to speak.</p> + +<p>“Are you, then, inexorably bent on Hamlet’s dying +at the end?” inquired Serlo.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But the public wishes him to live.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>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 <i>wish</i>, when these are not emotions +which they <i>ought</i>, to feel.”</p> + +<p>“Whoever pays the cash,” said Serlo, “may require +the ware according to his liking.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>Hamlet</i> itself to such of our readers +as feel any interest in the subject.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="SHAKESPEARE_AD_INFINITUM">SHAKESPEARE AD INFINITUM</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1813-16)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>I. Shakespeare as Poet in General</i></p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Enough of these slight words, which cannot begin +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>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.</p> + +<p>Thus <i>Coriolanus</i> is permeated by the idea of +anger at the refusal of the lower classes to recognize +the superiority of their betters. In <i>Julius Cæsar</i> +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. <i>Antony and Cleopatra</i> 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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>II. Shakespeare Compared with the Ancients and the +Moderns</i></p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>scarcely touches the emotions of unsatisfied desire, except +at his highest points.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:—</p> + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Ancient</td> +<td class="tdl">Modern</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Natural</td> +<td class="tdl">Sentimental</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Pagan</td> +<td class="tdl">Christian</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Classic</td> +<td class="tdl">Romantic</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Realistic</td> +<td class="tdl">Idealistic</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Necessity</td> +<td class="tdl">Freedom</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Duty (<i>sollen</i>)</td> +<td class="tdl">Will (<i>wollen</i>)<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<p>The greatest ills to which men are exposed, as well +as the most numerous, arise from a certain inner conflict +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>whole</i> that is aimed at. The will, on the +contrary, is free, appears free, and is advantageous to +the <i>individual</i>. 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>nature, such as Shakespeare was, to develop religiously +his own pure inner nature, without reference to any +established religion.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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, <i>On the Idea +of Fate in the Tragedies of Æschylus</i>, and the excellent +criticism of it in the supplement of the <i>Jenaische Literaturzeitung</i>. +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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>III. Shakespeare as Playwright</i></p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>We must distinguish closely-related poetic <i>genres</i>, +however often they may be confused and merged together +in actual treatment,—epic, dialogue, drama, +play. <i>Epic</i> requires the verbal delivery to the crowd +through the mouth of an individual; <i>dialogue</i>, conversation +in a narrow circle, where the crowd may eventually +listen; <i>drama</i>, conversation bound up with action, +even if enacted only before the imagination; <i>play</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Henry IV</i> +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” +(<i>Epitomator</i>), 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>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 <i>Hamlet</i> shows us. <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> +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.</p> + +<p>But Shakespeare appears most remarkable when he +revises and pieces together already existing plays. In +<i>King John</i> and <i>Lear</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>signified</i>, 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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”!</p> + +<p>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 <i>King +Lear</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Many years ago the superstition crept into Germany +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>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.</p> + +<p>They have, however, with the idea of making an attempt +along the lines of which we have spoken in detail +above, revised <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> 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.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> “Goethe, in a thoughtful essay, <i>Shakespeare und kein Ende</i>, +written many years later than his famous criticism of Hamlet +in <i>Wilhelm Meister</i>, says that the distinction between the two +[ancient and modern drama] is the difference between <i>sollen</i> and +<i>wollen</i>, that is, between <i>must</i> and <i>would</i>. 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 <i>Antigone</i>, on the other hand, the +crisis lies in the character of the protagonist.”—James Russell +Lowell, <i>Shakespeare Once More</i>.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FIRST_EDITION_OF_HAMLET">FIRST EDITION OF <i>HAMLET</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1827)</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1"><i>The First Edition of the Tragedy of Hamlet</i>, by William +Shakespeare, London, 1603. Reprinted by +Fleischer, Leipzig, 1825.</p> +</div> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Wilhelm +Tell</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>with intelligence and feeling, everything thrilling our +emotions and clarifying our insight.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In the closet of the Queen, on the other hand, we find +mother and son in the familiar dialogue, and finally +these words:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Queen. Hamlet, you break my heart.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Hamlet. O throw the worser part away and keep the better.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>But then follows: “Enter the Ghost in his night-gowne.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>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.</p> + +<p>It is worth noting that the commentator Steevens +has already criticized this scene. When Hamlet +says:—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“My father in his habit as he lived!”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="TROILUS_AND_CRESSIDA"><i>TROILUS AND CRESSIDA</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1824)</p> + + +<p>A comparison of the <i>Iliad</i> with <i>Troilus and Cressida</i> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ON_OTHER_WRITERS">ON OTHER WRITERS</h2> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GOETHE_AS_A_YOUNG_REVIEWER">GOETHE AS A YOUNG REVIEWER</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1772)</p> + + +<p class="ph3">I</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1"><i>Lyrical Poems</i>, by J. C. Blum. Berlin, 1772</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>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, <i>Donec +gratus eram</i>, 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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3">II</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1"><i>Cymbelline, a Tragedy, Based on a Shakespearian +Theme</i> [by J. G. Sulzer]. Danzig, 1772.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>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 <i>vox populi critici</i> 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 <i>travestied</i>—no, not travestied, +for then something of the appearance of the original +would remain—<i>parodied</i>—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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Leipziger Bibliothek</i>!<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> +We are certain that every one, not merely readers of +Shakespeare, will cast it aside with contempt.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> By Nicolai.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BYRONS_MANFRED">BYRON’S <i>MANFRED</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1820)</p> + + +<p>To me Byron’s tragedy of <i>Manfred</i> was a wonderful +phenomenon, touching me closely. This singular but +highly gifted poet has absorbed my own <i>Faust</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> The quotation which follows here, translated by Goethe into +German, is Manfred’s speech at the end of act 2, scene 2, beginning:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“We are the fools of Time and Terror! Days</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Steal on us, and steal from us; yet we live,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Loathing our life, and dreading still to die.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="BYRONS_DON_JUAN11">BYRON’S <i>DON JUAN</i><a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1821)</p> + + +<p>In hesitating some time ago to insert a passage from +[Manzoni’s] <i>Count Carmagnola</i>, a piece which is perhaps +translatable, and in the present instance making +the daring attempt to take up and discuss the untranslatable +<i>Don Juan</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><i>Don Juan</i> is a work of infinite genius, misanthropical +with the bitterest inhumanity, yet sympathetic +with the deepest intensity of tender feeling. And +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In translating <i>Don Juan</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> This paper is preceded by a translation into German verse +of the first five stanzas of <i>Don Juan</i>.</p> + +</div> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CALDERONS_DAUGHTER_OF_THE_AIR">CALDERON’S <i>DAUGHTER OF THE AIR</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1822)</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“De nugis hominum seria veritas</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Uno volvitur assere.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>con amore</i> +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 +<i>Daughter of the Air</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But the reason for our giving the <i>Daughter of the +Air</i> so high a place has already been suggested; it is favored +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>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 <i>The Devotion of +the Cross</i> and in <i>Daybreak in Copacabana</i>.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Returning to the <i>Daughter of the Air</i>, 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>All honor then to the translator, who concentrated +his energies on a single point, and went ahead in a +<i>single</i> direction, so that we could enjoy in a <i>thousand</i> +different ways!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MOLIERES_MISANTHROPE">MOLIÈRE’S <i>MISANTHROPE</i></h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1828)</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1"><i>Histoire de la Vie et des Ouvrages de Molière</i>, par J. +Taschereau. Paris, 1828.</p> +</div> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Examine the <i>Misanthrope</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="OLD_GERMAN_FOLKSONGS">OLD GERMAN FOLKSONGS</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1806)</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1"><i>Des Knaben Wunderhorn. Old German Songs</i>, edited +by Achim von Arnim and Klemens Brentano. Heidelberg, +1806.</p> +</div> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>If these songs were then borne from ear to ear, from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p><i>The Wunderhorn.</i> Fairy-like, childlike, pleasing.</p> + +<p><i>The Sultan’s Little Daughter.</i> Tender Christian feeling, charming.</p> + +<p><i>Tell and His Child.</i> Honest and solid.</p> + +<p><i>Grandmother Snake-cook.</i> Deep, enigmatic, dramatic, admirably +handled.</p> + +<p><i>Isaiah’s Face.</i> Barbaric grandeur.</p> + +<p><i>Fire Incantation.</i> Appropriate and true to the spirit of the +brigand.</p> + +<p><i>Poor Schwartenhals.</i> Roguish, whimsical, jolly.</p> + +<p><i>Death and the Maiden.</i> After the manner of the Dance of +Death; like a woodcut; admirable.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> +<p><i>Nocturnal Musicians.</i> Droll, extravagant, inimitable.</p> + +<p><i>The Stubborn Bride.</i> Humorous, somewhat grotesque.</p> + +<p><i>Cloister-shy.</i> Capriciously confused, yet to the purpose.</p> + +<p><i>The Braggart Knight.</i> Very good in the realistic-romantic +manner.</p> + +<p><i>The Black-brown Witch.</i> Rather confused in transmission, but +the theme of inestimable value.</p> + +<p><i>Love Without Caste.</i> Romantic twilight.</p> + +<p><i>The Hospitality of Winter.</i> Written with a great deal of elegance.</p> + +<p><i>The High-born Maiden.</i> Christian pedantry, but not wholly unpoetical.</p> + +<p><i>Love Spins no Silk.</i> Charmingly confused and therefore rousing +the imagination.</p> + +<p><i>The Faith of an Hussar.</i> Swiftness and lightness expressed in +a wonderful way.</p> + +<p><i>The Ratcatcher of Hameln.</i> Tends toward the manner of the +ballad-monger, but not coarse.</p> + +<p><i>Tuck Your Dress, Gretlein.</i> After the manner of vagabond +poets; unexpectedly epigrammatic.</p> + +<p><i>The Song of the Ring.</i> Romantic tenderness.</p> + +<p><i>The Knight and the Maiden.</i> Romantic twilight; powerful.</p> + +<p><i>Harvest Song.</i> A Catholic funeral hymn; good enough to be +Protestant!</p> + +<p><i>A Surfeit of Learning.</i> A gallant piece; but the pedant cannot +get rid of his learning.</p> + +<p><i>The Fight at Murten.</i> Realistic, probably modernized.</p> + +<p><i>The Haste of Time in God.</i> Christian, somewhat too historical, +but quite suited to its subject, and very good.</p> + +<p><i>Reveille.</i> Priceless for any one who has the imagination to +understand it.</p> + +<p><i>Drought.</i> Thought, feeling, presentation everywhere right.</p> + +<p><i>The Drummer Boy.</i> Lively presentation of a distressing incident. +A poem which the discriminating will find it difficult to +match.</p> + +<p><i>Should and Must.</i> Perfect in plan, although here in a dismembered +and curiously restored condition.</p> + +<p><i>A Friendly Service.</i> German romanticism, pious and pleasing.</p> + +<p><i>Cradle Song.</i> Rhyming nonsense, perfectly suited to put one +to sleep.</p> + +<p><i>Miller’s Farewell.</i> To one who can grasp the situation, a priceless +thing; but the first stanza requires an emendation.</p> + +<p><i>Abbot Neidhard and His Monks.</i> A prank of Till Eulenspiegel +of the very best sort, and very well told.</p> + +<p><i>The Horrible Marriage.</i> An extraordinary case; in the ballad-monger’s +manner, but admirably handled.</p> + +<p><i>The Excellent Comrade.</i> Nonsense; but happy the man who +can sing it agreeably!</p> + +<p><i>Unrequited Love.</i> Very good, but tending toward a rather +Philistine prose.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> +<p><i>The Little Tree.</i> Full of longing and playfulness, yet full of +fervor.</p> + +<p><i>Mésalliance.</i> Excellent enigmatic fable, but a clearer treatment +might have been more pleasing to the reader.</p> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOLKSONGS_AGAIN_COMMENDED">FOLKSONGS AGAIN COMMENDED</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1823)</p> + + +<p>My old love for original folksongs has not lessened, but +has rather been increased by receiving valuable communications +from many quarters.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>of the same theme, as well as mixed and heterogeneous +fragments.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="LAURENCE_STERNE">LAURENCE STERNE</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1827)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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” +(<i>Eigenheit</i>), 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_ENGLISH_REVIEWERS">THE ENGLISH REVIEWERS</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1821)</p> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>and whose premises we often grant, but whose conclusions +nevertheless we do not share.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="GERMAN_LITERATURE_IN_GOETHES_YOUTH">GERMAN LITERATURE IN GOETHE’S YOUTH</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1811-14)</p> + + +<p>So much has been written about the condition of German +literature at that time,<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Critical Art of Poetry</i> into our hands; +it was useful and instructive enough, for it gave us +historical information about the various kinds of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>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 +<i>Art of Poetry</i>; 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Critical Art of Poetry</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Images, then! But whence should these images be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Review Camp of Augustus the Second</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>of which we could not but be afraid of falling. For +any one conscious of productive power it was a desperate +condition.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>In all sovereign states the material for poetry begins +with the highest social ranks, and the <i>Review Camp at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>Mühlberg</i> 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, +<i>fêtes</i> of all kinds,—here was plenty to captivate the +senses, and matter enough and to spare for descriptive +poetry.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>Court and State Calendar</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>Lessing and Wieland were led to it by reflection. The +former became by degrees quite epigrammatic in his +poems, terse in <i>Minna</i>, laconic in <i>Emilia Galotti</i>,—it +was not till later that he returned to that serene <i>naïveté</i> +which becomes him so well in <i>Nathan</i>. Wieland, who +had been occasionally prolix in <i>Agathon</i>, <i>Don Sylvio</i>, +and the <i>Comic Tales</i>, became wonderfully condensed and +precise, as well as exceedingly graceful, in <i>Musarion</i> +and <i>Idris</i>. Klopstock, in the first cantos of the <i>Messiah</i>, +is not without diffuseness; in his <i>Odes</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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! <i>Musarion</i> +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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>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.</p> + +<p>What a miserable reception was accorded such efforts +by the criticism of the time may be seen from the first +volumes of the <i>Universal German Library</i>. Honorable +mention is made there of the <i>Comic Tales</i>, 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 <i>Universal +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span>German Library</i> was behindhand in matters of taste, +and that young people, animated by true feelings, had +to look about them for other guiding stars.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Hermann</i> +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 <i>Jewish +Pastoral Poems</i>, all those on patriarchal subjects, and +any others based on the Old Testament. Bodmer’s +<i>Noachide</i> 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 <i>Rape of the Lock</i>, succeed in +inaugurating better times.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Critical Art of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>Poetry</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>belles lettres</i>, will be found, if not pitiful, +at least very feeble. This holds good of the <i>Literary +Epistles</i> and the <i>Universal German Library</i>, as well as +of the <i>Library of Belles Lettres</i>, and might easily be +verified by notable instances.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was Frederick the Great and the events of the +Seven Years’ War which first gave to German literature +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>the diligence of the artist’s treatment only brings out +the dignity of the subject in greater attractiveness and +splendor.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>of life everything is perfected more rapidly, and +it does not take a man’s life-time to bring such things +to maturity.</p> + +<p>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—<i>Minna von +Barnhelm</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>Prussians, and, in the principal as well as in the subordinate +characters, a happy union of bizarre and contradictory +elements is artistically represented.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> About 1765-68.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EXTRACTS_FROM_GOETHES_CONVERSATIONS">EXTRACTS FROM GOETHE’S CONVERSATIONS +WITH ECKERMANN</h2> +</div> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="EXTRACTS_FROM_THE_CONVERSATIONS">EXTRACTS FROM THE CONVERSATIONS +WITH ECKERMANN</h2> +</div> + +<p class="ph3">(1822-32)</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The Universality of Poetry</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>With them all is orderly, simple, without great +passion or poetic flight; and there is a strong resemblance +to my <i>Hermann and Dorothea</i>, 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Poetry and Patriotism</i><a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>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?</p> + +<p>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 <i>above</i> 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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The poet, as a man and citizen, will love his native +land; but the native land of his <i>poetic</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Poetry and History</i></p> + +<p>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, <i>my</i> Egmont.</p> + +<p>What would be the use of poets, if they only repeated +the record of the historian? The poet must go +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Originality</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>that I owe to great predecessors and contemporaries, +there would be but a small balance in my favor.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The critic of <i>Le Temps</i> 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. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>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 <i>Globe</i>, 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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Personality in Art</i></p> + +<p>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 <i>Manly</i>. 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>However, to feel and respect a great personality one +must be something oneself. All those who denied the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The Subject-Matter of Poetry</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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: +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>With a <i>given</i> 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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The Influence of Environment</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>We Germans are of yesterday. We have indeed been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>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.”</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Culture and Morals</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Classic and Romantic</i></p> + +<p>A new expression occurs to me which does not ill +define the state of the case. I call the classic <i>healthy</i>, +the romantic <i>sickly</i>. In this sense, the <i>Nibelungenlied</i> +is as classic as the <i>Iliad</i>, 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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span>pathological, or “romantic,” if you would rather speak +according to our new theory.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 <i>Naïve and Sentimental Poetry</i>. He proved to me +that I myself, against my will, was romantic, and that +my <i>Iphigenia</i>, through the predominance of sentiment, +was by no means so classical and so much in the antique +spirit as some people supposed.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Taste</i></p> + +<p>This is the way to cultivate what we call taste. +Taste is only to be educated by contemplation, not of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>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 <i>galant</i>, to a degree which you see nowhere else, and +is therefore a model in its way.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Style</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The English almost always write well, being born +orators and practical men, with a tendency to the real.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Intellect and Imagination</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Definition of Poetry</i></p> + +<p>What need of much definition? Lively feeling of situations, +and power to express them, make the poet.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Definition of Beauty</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span></p> + +<p class="ph3"><i>Architecture and Music</i></p> + +<p>I have found a paper of mine among some others, +in which I call architecture “petrified music.”<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> Really +there is something in this; the tone of mind produced +by architecture approaches the effect of music.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Primitive Poetry</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Weltliteratur</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>French Critics</i></p> + +<p>I am now really curious to know what the gentlemen +of the <i>Globe</i> 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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>What men these writers in the <i>Globe</i> 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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The Construction of a Good Play</i></p> + +<p>When a piece makes a deep impression on us in reading, +we think that it will do the same on the stage, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span>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 <i>Goetz von Berlichingen</i>! +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 <i>Wallenstein</i>; the <i>Piccolomini</i> +does not bear repetition, but <i>Wallenstein’s Death</i> +is always seen with delight.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Tartuffe</i> +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 <i>Minna von +Barnhelm</i> is also admirable; but that of <i>Tartuffe</i> +is absolutely unique: it is the greatest and best thing +that exists of the kind.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Shakespeare wrote his plays direct from his own +nature. Then, too, his age and the existing arrangements +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Dramatic Unities</i></p> + +<p>He [Byron] understood the purpose of this law no +better than the rest of the world. Comprehensibility +[<i>das Fassliche</i>] 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 <i>Phaethon</i> +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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> + +<p class="ph3"><i>The Theatre</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Acting</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span></p> + +<p class="ph3"><i>Dramatic Situations</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Management of the Theatre</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Menander</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Calderon</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Molière</i></p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>has the courage to imitate them. His <i>Miser</i>, 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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Do you know his <i>Malade Imaginaire</i>? 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Shakespeare</i></p> + +<p>We cannot talk about Shakespeare; everything is +inadequate. I have touched upon the subject in my +<i>Wilhelm Meister</i>, 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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> +<p>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 <i>Goetz</i> and <i>Egmont</i>, 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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p><i>Macbeth</i> 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 +<i>Troilus and Cressida</i>, where he treats the materials of +the <i>Iliad</i> in his own fashion.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>A. W. Schlegel’s Lectures on Dramatic Art and +Literature</i></p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The French Romanticists</i></p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span></p> +<p>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 <i>Marino +Faliero</i>. 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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Victor Hugo</i></p> + +<p>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 <i>Notre Dame de Paris</i>, and +required no little patience to support the horror with +which this reading has inspired me. It is the most +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>The “Idea” of Goethe’s Tasso and Faust</i></p> + +<p>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, <i>it is +bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh</i>.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> +<p>Then they come and ask what idea I meant to embody +in my <i>Faust</i>. As if I knew myself and could +inform them. <i>From heaven, through the world, to hell</i>, +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 <i>Faust</i> upon the slender string of one +pervading idea.</p> + +<p>It was, on the whole, not in my line, as a poet, to +strive to embody anything <i>abstract</i>. I received in my +mind <i>impressions</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Metamorphosis of Animals</i>, +that of <i>Plants</i>, the poem <i>Legacy</i>, 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 <i>Elective Affinities</i>. This +novel has thus become comprehensible to the intellect; +but I will not say that it is therefore better. I am +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Schiller</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>And, as he went so boldly to work, he did not take +sufficient pains about <i>motives</i>. I recollect what trouble +I had with him when he wanted to make Gessler, in +<i>Tell</i>, 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 <i>motives</i>, kept my pieces from the theatre. +My <i>Eugenie</i> is nothing but a chain of <i>motives</i>, and this +cannot succeed on the stage.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>adhered to him from the time of the <i>Robbers</i>, +which never quite left him even in his prime. I still +recollect perfectly well that in the prison scene in my +<i>Egmont</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Edinburgh Review</i></p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Byron</i></p> + +<p>Lord Byron is to be regarded as a man, as an Englishman, +and as a great genius. His good qualities +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>belong chiefly to the man, his bad to the Englishman +and the peer, his talent is incommensurable.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 <i>bad</i> bad, what do I gain? But if +I call <i>good</i> 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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>nature and his warlike tendency, which led to his +death at Missolonghi.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Lord Byron is only great as a poet; as soon as he +reflects, he is a child.</p> + + +<p class="ph3"><i>Scott</i></p> + +<p>Walter Scott’s <i>Fair Maid of Perth</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Fair Maid of Perth</i> 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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But, when you have finished the <i>Fair Maid of Perth</i>, +you must at once read <i>Waverley</i>, 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 <i>Fair Maid of Perth</i>, 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 <i>Fair Maid of Perth</i>, +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 <i>Waverley</i>, 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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span>much to think of; and I discover in him a wholly new +art, with laws of its own.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>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 <i>Rob Roy</i>, +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.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It is a peculiarity of Walter Scott’s that his great +talent in representing details often leads him into faults. +Thus, in <i>Ivanhoe</i>, 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.</p> + + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> Goethe had been reproached “for not taking up arms in the +German War of Liberation, or at least coöperating as a poet.”</p> + +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> + +<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> “Architecture is music in space, as it were a frozen music.”—Schelling’s +<i>Philosophie der Kunst</i>.</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="APPENDIX">APPENDIX</h2> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>I. On the Selection and Translation of the Essays +in this Volume.</p> + +<p>II. On the Chronology of Goethe’s Critical Studies.</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="APPENDIX_2">APPENDIX</h2> +</div> + + +<p class="ph3">I. <i>On the Selection and Translation of the Essays in this +Volume</i></p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Goethe</i> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>German Mercury</i>, the collaborator of Schiller in the +<i>Horen</i> 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 <i>Propyläen</i>, championing the antique spirit and voicing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>a protest against the excesses of romanticism; the more +thoughtful but still sympathetic student of Shakespeare, +enthusiastic in <i>Wilhelm Meister</i>, more temperate in <i>Shakespeare +ad Infinitum</i>; 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.</p> + +<p>All of the selections in Part I, except the essay on “German +Architecture,” have been taken from Goethe’s <i>Essays +on Art</i>, translated by S. G. Ward (Boston, 1845). Wilhelm +Meister’s critique of <i>Hamlet</i> has been excerpted from Carlyle’s +rendering of <i>Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre</i>. The version +of John Oxenford has been used for the selections +from the <i>Conversations with Eckermann</i>, and Oxenford’s +version, as revised by Miss M. S. Smith, for the selection +from Goethe’s <i>Autobiography</i>. 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 <i>Hamlet</i>,” “<i>Troilus and Cressida</i>,” “The +Methods of French Criticism,” “Supplement to Aristotle’s +<i>Poetics</i>,” “Tieck’s Dramaturgic Fragments,” “On the German +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span>Theatre,” “Didactic Poetry,” “Superstition and +Poetry,” “The Theory of a World Literature,” “Byron’s +<i>Manfred</i>,” “Byron’s <i>Don Juan</i>,” “Calderon’s <i>Daughter of +the Air</i>,” “Molière’s <i>Misanthrope</i>,” “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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="author"> +J. E. S.</p> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Troutbeck</span>, May, 1919.<br> +</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p class="author"> +J. E. S.</p> +<p> +<span class="smcap">New York</span>, September, 1921.<br> +</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p> + +<p class="ph3">II. <i>On the Chronology of Goethe’s Critical Studies</i></p> + +<p>The following chronology of Goethe’s critical activity is +intended chiefly to indicate the original sources of the +selections in the present volume.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>1772-73. Reviews in the <i>Frankfurter gelehrten Anzeigen</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Goethe as a Young Reviewer (reviews of Blum’s +<i>Lyrische Gedichte</i>, and Sulzer’s <i>Cymbelline, ein +Trauerspiel, nach einem von Shakespeare erfundnen +Stoffe</i>, both translated in full).</p> +</div> + +<p>1773. <i>Von deutscher Baukunst</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">On German Architecture (complete translation).</p> +</div> + +<p>1788 sq. Articles in Wieland’s <i>Teutscher Merkur</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Simple Imitation of Nature, Manner, Style (<i>Über +Italien: Einfache Nachahmung der Natur, Manier, +Stil</i>, complete translation).</p> +</div> + +<p>1794-1805. Correspondence of Goethe and Schiller:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Epic and Dramatic Poetry (complete translation); +also footnote on page <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</p> +</div> + +<p>1795-96. <i>Wilhelm Meister’s Lehrjahre</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Wilhelm Meister’s Critique of <i>Hamlet</i>.</p> +</div> + +<p>1795-97. Articles in <i>Die Horen</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">The Production of a National Classic (<i>Literarischer +Sansculottismus</i>, complete translation except for four +introductory paragraphs).</p> +</div> + +<p>1798-1800. Articles in <i>Die Propyläen</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Introduction to the Propylæa.</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">On Laocoon (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">On Truth and Probability in Works of Art (complete +translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">The Collector and his Friends.</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Notes on Dillettantism. (By Goethe and Schiller).</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span></p> +<p>1804 sq. Reviews in the <i>Jenaische Allgemeine Literaturzeitung</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Old German Folksongs (review of <i>Des Knaben Wunderhorn</i>, +translated in full except that only a few +of Goethe’s characterizations of individual poems are +included).</p> +</div> + +<p>1811-14. <i>Dichtung und Wahrheit</i> (Autobiography):</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">German Literature in Goethe’s Youth (selected passages +from part ii, book 7); also footnote on page <a href="#Page_14">14</a> +(from part ii, book 10).</p> +</div> + +<p>1815 sq. Articles in the <i>Morgenblatt für gebildete Stände</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Shakespeare ad Infinitum, parts i-ii, written 1813 +(<i>Shakespeare und kein Ende</i>, complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">On the German Theatre (complete translation).</p> +</div> + +<p>1816-32. Articles in <i>Über Kunst und Alterthum</i>:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Ancient and Modern.</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">The Theory of a World Literature, part i (review of +Duval’s <i>Le Tasse</i>), part ii (<i>Bezüge nach Aussen</i>, +complete translation), part iii (<i>Edinburgh Reviews</i>), +part v (review of Carlyle’s <i>Leben Schillers</i>).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Supplement to Aristotle’s <i>Poetics</i> (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">On Didactic Poetry (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Superstition and Poetry (<i>Justus Möser</i>).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">The Methods of French Critics (<i>Urteilsworte französischer +Kritiker</i>, complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">On Criticism, § 1 (review of Manzoni’s <i>Carmagnola</i>), +§ 3 (review of Rochlitz’s <i>Für Freunde der Tonkunst</i>).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">The First Edition of <i>Hamlet</i> (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Byron’s <i>Manfred</i> (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Byron’s <i>Don Juan</i> (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Calderon’s <i>Daughter of the Air</i> (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Molière’s <i>Misanthrope</i> (review of Taschereau’s <i>Histoire +de la Vie et des Ouvrages de Molière</i>, complete +translation).</p> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span></p> +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Shakespeare ad Infinitum, part iii, written 1816, published +1826 (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Folksongs again Commended (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Laurence Sterne (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">The English Reviewers (review of Manzoni’s <i>Carmagnola</i>).</p> +</div> + +<p>1822-32. <i>Gespräche mit Goethe in den letzten Jahren seines +Lebens</i>, by J. P. Eckermann (published 1836-48):</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Extracts from Goethe’s Conversations with Eckermann.</p> +</div> + +<p>Posthumous Works (<i>Nachgelassene Werke</i>, 1833):</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="hanging-indent1">Tieck’s Dramaturgic Fragments (complete translation).</p> + +<p class="hanging-indent1"><i>Troilus and Cressida</i> (<i>Über die Parodie bei den Alten</i>).</p> +</div> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INDEX">INDEX</h2> +</div> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span></p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INDEX_2">INDEX</h2> +</div> + + +<ul class="index"> +<li class="ifrst">Anacreon, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Aristotle, <a href="#Page_104">104</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Arnault, Antoine Vincent, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Arnim, Achim von, <a href="#Page_213">213</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Blümner, Heinrich, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Blum, J. C., <a href="#Page_199">199</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Blumauer, Alois, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Bodmer, Johann Jakob, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Breitinger, Johann Jakob, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Brentano, Clemens, <a href="#Page_213">213</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Bürger, Gottfried August, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Burns, Robert, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Byron, <a href="#Page_202">202</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, + <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Calderon, <a href="#Page_208">208</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Carlyle, Thomas, <a href="#Page_267">267</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Characteristic art, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Chinese literature, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Chodowiecki, Daniel Nicolaus, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Claudius, Matthias, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Cousin, Victor, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Criticism, theory of, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, + <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Diderot, Denys, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Drama, and Theatre, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, + <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, + <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, + <a href="#Page_268">268</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Dürer, Albrecht, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Erwin von Steinbach, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Fabroni, Angelo, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Folksongs, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Frederick the Great, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Fürnstein, Anton, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Gellert, Christian Fürchtegott, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gessner, Salomon, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gleim, Johann Wilhelm Ludwig, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Goldsmith, Oliver, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gottsched, Johann Christoph, <a href="#Page_230">230</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Gozzi, Count Carlo, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Gries, Johann Dietrich, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Grimm, Friedrich Melchior, Baron von, <a href="#Page_138">138</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Guizot, François Pierre Guillaume, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Günther, Johann Christian, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Haller, Albrecht von, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Hamann, Johann Georg, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Handel, Georg Friedrich, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Herder, Johann Gottfried von, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Hirt, Alois, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Homer, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Horace, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Hugo, Victor, <a href="#Page_279">279</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Humboldt, Karl Wilhelm, Baron von, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Huysum, Jan van, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Iffland, August Wilhelm, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Johnson, Samuel, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>Kant, Immanuel, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Kleist, Ewald Christian von, <a href="#Page_240">240</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Kleist, Heinrich von, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Klopstock, Friedrich Gottlieb, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">König, Johann Ulrich von, <a href="#Page_233">233</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Körner, Theodor, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Laocoon, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Laugier, Marc Antoine, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Leonardo da Vinci, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Lessing, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, + <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Lichtenberg, Georg Christoph, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Lichtwer, M. G., <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Liscow, Christian Ludwig, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Lowell, James Russell, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Mannerists, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Manzoni, Alessandro, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Matthisson, Friedrich von, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Menander, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Mérimeé, Prosper, <a href="#Page_278">278</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Michelangelo, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Milton, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Molière, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Napoleon, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Nicolai, Christoph Friedrich, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Niebuhr, B. G., <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Novel, the, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Oeser, Adam Friedrich, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Originality, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Perugino, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pindar, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Plato, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Pope, Alexander, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Rabener, Gottlieb Wilhelm, <a href="#Page_228">228</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Ramler, Karl Wilhelm, <a href="#Page_235">235</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Raphael, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Richardson, Samuel, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Romanticism, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Rubens, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Ruysch, Rachel, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Schiller, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a> <i>sq.</i>, + <a href="#Page_119">119</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, + <a href="#Page_264">264</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Schlegel, August Wilhelm von, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Schlegel, Friedrich von, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Schlegel, Johann Elias, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Schroeder, Friedrich Ludwig, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Schubarth, Karl Ernst, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Scott, Sir Walter, <a href="#Page_286">286</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + +<li class="indx">Seylerin (i.e., Sophie Friedrike Seyler), <a href="#Page_118">118</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_65">65</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a> <i>sq.</i>, + <a href="#Page_171">171</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a> <i>sq.</i>, + <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, + <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Steevens, George, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Sterne, Laurence, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Style, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Sulzer, J. G., <a href="#Page_200">200</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Taschereau, J., <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Theatre, see <a href="#Page_301">Drama</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Thomson, James, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Tieck, Ludwig, <a href="#Page_126">126</a> <i>sq.</i></li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Uvaroff, Count, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Villemain, Abel François, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Virgil, <a href="#Page_34">34</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Voss, Johann Heinrich, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li> + + +<li class="ifrst">Wieland, Christoph Martin, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a> <i>sq.</i>, + <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">Winckelmann, Johann Joachim, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.</li> + +<li class="indx">World Literature, <a href="#Page_89">89</a> <i>sq.</i>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li> +</ul> + + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<div class="tnote"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_note">Transcriber’s note</h2> + + +<p>Italics in chapter headings and spelling of title of works were standardized. +Hyphenation was standardized where appropriate.</p> + +<p>Page number references in the index are as published in the original publication and have not been +checked for accuracy in this eBook.</p> + +<p>Spelling was retained as in the original except for the following +changes:</p> + + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_vii">vii</a>: “Tieck’s <i>Dramaturgic</i>”</td> +<td class="tdl">“Ludwig Tieck’s <i>Dramaturgic</i>”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_viii">viii</a>: “Subject-matter of Poetry”</td> +<td class="tdl">“Subject-Matter of Poetry”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_36">36</a>: “with my possessessions”</td> +<td class="tdl">“with my possessions”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_89">89</a>: “its aesthetic and ethical”</td> +<td class="tdl">“its æsthetic and ethical”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_166">166</a>: “These s approaches”</td> +<td class="tdl">“These soft approaches”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_200">200</a>: “Cymbelline, a Trageay”</td> +<td class="tdl">“Cymbelline, a Tragedy”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_207">207</a>: “art of poety ever”</td> +<td class="tdl">“art of poetry ever”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_244">244</a>: “and the stubborness”</td> +<td class="tdl">“and the stubbornness”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_255">255</a>: “made many distiches”</td> +<td class="tdl">“made many distichs”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_291">291</a>: “of the compatability”</td> +<td class="tdl">“of the compatibility”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_292">292</a>: “elsewhere Sainte-Beauve”</td> +<td class="tdl">“elsewhere Sainte-Beuve”</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl">Page <a href="#Page_297">297</a>: “(complete translalation”</td> +<td class="tdl">“(complete translation”</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +</div> + + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76103 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/76103-h/images/cover.jpg b/76103-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9c845e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/76103-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76103-h/images/i_title_decor.jpg b/76103-h/images/i_title_decor.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..11730f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/76103-h/images/i_title_decor.jpg |
