Part 17
The idea of a perfect health is interesting only in a scientific point of view. Sickness is necessary to individualization.
If God could be man, he can also be stone, plant, animal, element, and perhaps, in this way, there is a continuous redemption in Nature.
Life is a disease of the spirit, a passionate activity. Rest is the peculiar property of the spirit. From the spirit comes gravitation.
As nothing can be free, so, too, nothing can be forced, but spirit.
A space-filling individual is a body; a time-filling individual is a soul.
It should be inquired whether Nature has not essentially changed with the progress of culture.
All activity ceases when knowledge comes. The state of knowing is _eudæmonism_, blest repose of contemplation, heavenly quietism.
Miracles, as contradictions of Nature, are _amathematical_. But there are no miracles in this sense. What we so term, is intelligible precisely by means of mathematics; for nothing is miraculous to mathematics.
In music, mathematics appears formally, as revelation, as creative idealism. All enjoyment is musical, consequently mathematical. The highest life is mathematics.
There may be mathematicians of the first magnitude who cannot cipher. One can be a great cipherer without a conception of mathematics.
Instinct is genius in Paradise, before the period of self-abstraction (self-recognition).
The fate which oppresses us is the sluggishness of our spirit. By enlargement and cultivation of our activity, we change ourselves into fate. Everything appears to stream in upon us, because we do not stream out. We are negative, because we choose to be so; the more positive we become, the more negative will the world around us be, until, at last, there is no more negative, and we are all in all. God wills gods.
All power appears only in transition. Permanent power is stuff.
Every act of introversion--every glance into our interior--is at the same time ascension, going up to heaven, a glance at the veritable outward.
Only so far as a man is happily married to himself, is he fit for married life and family life, generally.
One must never confess that one loves one's self. The secret of this confession is the life-principle of the only true and eternal love.
We conceive God as personal, just as we conceive ourselves personal. God is just as personal and as individual as we are; for what we call I is not our true I, but only its off glance.
HYMN TO NIGHT (1800)
By NOVALIS
TRANSLATED BY PAUL B. THOMAS
Who, that hath life and the gift of perception, loves not more than all the marvels seen far and wide in the space about him Light, the all-gladdening, with its colors, with its beams and its waves, its mild omnipresence as the arousing day? The giant world of restless stars breathes it, as were it the innermost soul of life, and lightly floats in its azure flood; the stone breathes it, sparkling and ever at rest, and the dreamy, drinking plant, and the savage, ardent, manifold-fashioned beast; but above all the glorious stranger with the thoughtful eyes, the airy step, and the lightly-closed, melodious lips. Like a king of terrestrial nature it calls every power to countless transformations, it forms and dissolves innumerable alliances and surrounds every earthly creature with its heavenly effulgence. Its presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the realms of the world.
Downward I turn my eyes to Night, the holy, ineffable, mysterious. Far below lies the world, sunk in a deep vault; void and lonely is its place. Deep melancholy is wafted through the chords of the breast. In drops of dew I'd fain sink down and mingle with the ashes. Far-off memories, desires of youth, dreams of childhood, long life's brief joys and vain hopes appear in gray garments like the evening mist after sunset. Light has pitched its gay tents in other regions. Will it perchance never return to its children, who are waiting for it with the faith of innocence?
What is it that suddenly wells up so forebodingly from beneath the heart and smothers the gentle breath of melancholy? Dark Night, dost thou also take pleasure in us? What hast thou beneath thy mantle which touches my soul with invisible force? Precious balsam drops from the bunch of poppies in thy hand. Thou raisest up the heavy wings of the soul; vaguely and inexpressibly we feel ourselves moved. Joyously fearful, I see an earnest face, which gently and reverently bends over me, and amid endlessly entangled locks shows the sweet youth of the mother. How poor and childish does Light seem to me now! How joyful and blessed the departure of day! Only for that reason, then, because Night turns thy servants from thee, didst thou scatter in the wide expanse of space the shining stars, to make known thine omnipotence and thy return, during the periods of thine absence? More heavenly than those twinkling stars seem to us the everlasting eyes which Night has opened within us. Farther they see than the palest of those numberless hosts; not needing light, they fathom the depths of a loving heart, filling a higher space with unspeakable delight.
Praise be to the queen of the world, to the high harbinger of holy worlds, to the fostress of blissful love! She sends thee to me, gentle sweetheart, lovely sun of the night. Now I am awake, for I am thine and mine; thou hast proclaimed to me that night is life and made a man of me. Consume my body with spiritual fire, that I may ethereally blend with thee, and then the bridal night may last forever.
"THOUGH NONE THY NAME SHOULD CHERISH" [34]
Though none Thy Name should cherish, My faith shall be the same, Lest gratitude should perish And earth be brought to shame. With meekness Thou did'st suffer The pangs of death for me, With joy then I would offer This heart for aye to Thee.
[Illustration: #THE QUEEN OF NIGHT# _From the painting by Moritz von Schwind_]
I weep with strong emotion That death has been Thy lot, And yet that Thy devotion Thy people have forgot. The blessings of salvation Thy perfect love has won, Yet who in any nation Regards what Thou hast done 3
With love Thou hast protected Each man his whole life through; Though all Thy care rejected, No less would'st Thou be true. Such love as Thine must vanquish The proudest soul at last, 'Twill turn to Thee in anguish And to Thy knees cling fast.
Thine influence hath bound me; Oh, if it be Thy will, Be evermore around me, Be present with me still! At length too shall the others Look up and long for rest, And all my loving brothers Shall sink upon Thy breast.
TO THE VIRGIN[35]
A thousand hands, devoutly tender, Have sought thy beauty to express, But none, oh Mary, none can render, As my soul sees, thy loveliness.
I gaze till earth's confusion fadeth Like to a dream, and leaves behind A heaven of sweetness which pervadeth My whole rapt being--heart and mind.
FRIEDRICH HÖLDERLIN
* * * * *
HYPERION'S SONG OF FATE [36] (1799)
Ye wander there in the light On flower-soft fields, ye blest immortal Spirits. Radiant godlike zephyrs Touch you as gently As the hand of a master might Touch the awed lute-string. Free of fate as the slumbering Infant, breathe the divine ones. Guarded well In the firm-sheathed bud Blooms eternal Each happy soul; And their rapture-lit eyes Shine with a tranquil Unchanging lustre. But we, 'tis our portion, We never may be at rest. They stumble, they vanish, The suffering mortals, Hurtling from one hard Hour to another, Like waves that are driven From cliff-side to cliff-side, Endlessly down the uncertain abyss.
EVENING PHANTASIE[36] (1799)
Before his but reposes in restful shade The ploughman; wreaths of smoke from his hearth ascend. And sweet to wand'rers comes the tone of Evening bells from the peaceful village.
[Illustration: #FRIEDRICH HÖLDERLIN# E. HADER]
The sailor too puts into the haven now, In distant cities cheerily dies away The busy tumult; in the arbor Gleams the festal repast of friendship.
But whither I? In labor, for slight reward We mortals live; in alternate rest and toil Contentment dwells; but why then sleeps not Hid in my bosom the thorn unsparing?
The ev'ning heaven blooms as with springtime's hue; Uncounted bloom the roses, the golden world Seems wrapt in peace; oh, bear me thither, Purple-wrought clouds! And may for me there
Both love and grief dissolve in the joyous light! But see, as if dispelled by the foolish prayer, The wonder fades! 'Tis dark, and lonely Under the heaven I stand as erstwhile.
Come then to me, soft Sleep. Overmuch requires The heart; and yet thou too at the last shalt fade, Oh youth, thou restless dream-pursuer! Peaceful and happy shall age then follow.
LUDWIG TIECK
* * * * *
PUSS IN BOOTS (1797)
_A fairy-tale for children in three acts, with interludes, a prologue and an epilogue_.
TRANSLATED BY LILLIE WINTER, B.A.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
THE KING
THE PRINCESS, _his daughter_
PRINCE NATHANIEL _of Malsinki_
LEANDER, _Court scholar_
HANSWURST, _Court fool_
_A Groom of the Chamber_
_The Cook_
LORENZ } BARTHEL } _Peasant brothers_ GOTTLIEB }
_Hinze, a tom-cat_
_A Tavern-keeper_
KUNZ } MICHEL } _Peasants_
_A Bugbear_
_A Peace-maker_
_The Playwright_
_A Soldier_
_Two Hussars_
_Two Lovers_
_Servants_
_Musicians_
_A Peasant_
_The Prompter_
_A Shoemaker_
_A Historian_
FISCHER
MÜLLER
BÖTTICHER
LEUTNER
WIESENER
WIESENER'S NEIGHBOR
_Elephants_
_Lions_
_Bears_
_An officer_
_Eagles and other birds_
_A rabbit_
_Partridges_
_Jupiter_
_Terkaleon_
_The Machinist_
_Spirits_
_Monkeys_
_The Public_.
[Illustration: #LUDWIG TIECK# VOGEL VON VOGELSTEIN]
PROLOGUE
_The scene is laid in the pit, the candles are already lighted, the musicians are gathered in the orchestra. The theatre is filled, people talking in confusion, some arriving, etc_.
FISCHER, MÜLLER, SCHLOSSER, BÖTTICHER, _in the pit_
FISCHER.
Say, but I am curious, Herr Müller, what do you think of today's play?
MÜLLER.
I should be more likely to expect the sky to fall in than to see such a play at our theatre.
FISCHER.
Do you know the play?
MÜLLER.
Not at all. A strange title that: _Puss in Boots_. I do hope they're not going to present that child's play at the theatre.
SCHLOSS.
Why, is it an opera?
FISCHER.
Anything but that; the bill says: _A Fairy-tale for Children_.
SCHLOSS.
A fairy-tale? But in Heaven's name, we're not children, are we, that they want to present such pieces for us? They certainly won't put an actual cat on the stage, will they?
FISCHER.
It may turn out to be an imitation of the new Arcadians, a sort of Terkaleon.
MÜLLER.
Now that wouldn't be bad, for I've been wishing this long while to see some time such a wonderful opera without music.
FISCHER.
Without music it is absurd, for, my dear friend, we're beyond such childish nonsense, such superstition; enlightenment has borne its natural fruits.
MÜLLER.
It may turn out to be a regular picture of domestic life, and the cat is only a joke, something like a jest, so to speak, a motive, if I may call it that.
SCHLOSS.
To tell you my honest opinion, I take the whole thing to be a trick to spread sentiment among the people, give them suggestions. You'll see if I'm not right. A revolutionary play, as far as I can understand.
FISCHER.
I agree with you, too, for otherwise the style would be horribly offensive. For my part I must admit I never could believe in witches or spirits, not to mention _Puss in Boots_.
SCHLOSS.
The age of these phantoms is past. Why, there comes Leutner; perhaps he can tell us more.
[_Leutner pushes himself through the crowd_.]
LEUTNER.
Good evening, good evening! Well, how are you?
MÜLLER.
Do tell us, will you, what sort of play we're having tonight?
[_The music begins_.]
LEUTNER.
So late already? Why, I've come in the nick of time. About the play? I have just been speaking with the author; he is at the theatre and helping dress the tom-cat.
MANY VOICES.
Is helping?--The author?--The cat? So a cat will appear, after all?
LEUTNER.
Yes, indeed, why his name is even on the bill.
FISCHER.
I say, who's playing that part?
LEUTNER.
The strange actor, of course, the great man.
MÜLLER.
Indeed? But how can they possibly play such nonsense?
LEUTNER.
For a change, the author thinks.
FISCHER.
A fine change, why not Bluebeard too, and Prince Kobold? Indeed! Some excellent subjects for the drama!
MÜLLER.
But how are they going to dress the cat?--And I wonder whether he wears real boots?
LEUTNER.
I am just as impatient as all of you.
FISCHER.
But shall we really have such stuff played to us? We've come here out of curiosity, to be sure, but still we have taste.
MÜLLER.
I feel like making a noise.
LEUTNER.
It's rather cold, too. I'll make a start. (_He stamps with his feet, the others fall in_.)
WIESENER (_on the other side_).
What does this pounding mean?
LEUTNER.
That's to rescue good taste.
WIESENER.
Well, then I won't be the last, either. (_He stamps_.)
VOICES.
Be quiet, or you can't hear the music. (_All are stamping_.)
SCHLOSS.
But, I say, we really ought to let them go through the play, for, after all, we've given our money anyhow; afterward we'll pound so they'll hear us out doors.
ALL.
No, they'll now--taste--rules--art--otherwise everything will go to ruin.
A CANDLE-SNUFFER.
Gentlemen, shall the police be sent in?
LEUTNER.
We have paid, we represent the public, and therefore we will have our own good taste and no farces.
THE PLAYWRIGHT (_behind the scenes_).
The play will begin immediately.
MÜLLER.
No play--we want no play--we want good taste--
ALL.
Good taste! good taste!
PLAYWR.
I am puzzled--what do you mean, if I may ask?
SCHLOSS.
Good taste! Are you an author and don't even know what good taste means?
PLAYWR.
Consider a young beginner--
SCHLOSS.
We want to know nothing about beginners--we want to see a decent play-a play in good taste!
PLAYWR.
What sort? What kind?
MÜLLER.
Domestic stories--elopements--brothers and sisters from the country--something like that.
[_The Author comes out from behind the curtain_.]
PLAYWR.
Gentlemen--
ALL.
Is that the author?
FISCHER.
He doesn't look much like an author.
SCHLOSS.
Impertinent fellow!
MÜLLER.
His hair isn't even trimmed.
PLAYWR.
Gentlemen-pardon my boldness.
FISCHER.
How can you write such plays? Why haven't you trained yourself?
PLAYWR.
Grant me just one minute's audience before you condemn me. I know that the honorable public must pass judgment on the author, and that from them there is no appeal, but I know the justice of an honorable public, and I am assured they will not frighten me away from a course in which I so need their indulgent guidance.
FISCHER.
He doesn't talk badly.
MÜLLER.
He's more courteous than I thought.
SCHLOSS.
He has respect for the public, after all.
PLAYWR.
I am ashamed to present to such illustrious judges the modest inspiration of my Muse; it is only the skill of our actors which still consoles me to some extent, otherwise I should be sunk in despair without further ado.
FISCHER.
I am sorry for him.
MÜLLER.
A good fellow!
PLAYWR.
When I heard your worthy stamping--nothing has ever frightened me so, I am still pale and trembling and do not myself comprehend how I have attained to the courage of thus appearing before you.
LEUTNER.
Well, clap, then! (_All clap_.)
PLAYWR.
I wanted to make an attempt to furnish amusement by means of humor, by cheerfulness and real jokes, and hope I have been successful, since our newest plays so seldom afford us an opportunity to laugh.
[Illustration: #PUSS IN BOOTS# MORITZ VON SCHWIND]
MÜLLER.
That's certainly true!
LEUTNER.
He's right--that man.
SCHLOSS.
Bravo! Bravo!
ALL.
Bravo! Bravo! (_They clap_.)
PLAYWR.
I leave you, honored sirs, to decide now whether my attempt is to be rejected entirely--trembling, I withdraw, and the play will begin. (_He bows very respectfully and goes behind the curtain_.)
ALL.
Bravo! Bravo!
VOICES FROM THE GALLERY.
_Da capo!_--
[_All are laughing. The music begins again; meanwhile the curtain rises_.]
ACT I
_Small room in a peasant's cottage_
LORENZ, BARTHEL, GOTTLIEB. The tom-cat HINZE, _is lying on a bench by the stove_.
LORENZ.
I think that after the death of our father, our little fortune can be divided easily. You know the deceased has left only three pieces of property--a horse, an ox, and that cat there. I, as the eldest, will take the horse; Barthel, second after me, gets the ox, and so the cat is naturally left for our youngest brother.
LEUTNER (_in the pit_).
For Heaven's sake! Did any one ever see such an exposition! Just see how far dramatic art has degenerated!
MÜLLER.
But I understand everything perfectly well.
LEUTNER.
That's just the trouble, you should give the spectator a cunning suggestion, not throw the matter right into his teeth.
MÜLLER.
But now you know, don't you, where you are?
LEUTNER.
Yes, but you certainly mustn't know that so quickly; why, the very best part of the fun consists in getting at it little by little.
BARTHEL.
I think, brother Gottlieb, you will also be satisfied with this division; unfortunately you are the youngest, and so you must grant us some privileges.
GOTTLIEB.
Yes, to be sure.
SCHLOSS.
But why doesn't the court of awards interfere in the inheritance? What improbabilities!
LORENZ.
So then we're going now, dear Gottlieb; farewell, don't let time hang heavy on your hands.
GOTTLIEB.
Good-bye.
[_Exit the brothers_.]
GOTTLIEB (_alone_).
They are going away--and I am alone. We all three have our lodgings. Lorenz, of course, can till the ground with his horse, Barthel can slaughter and pickle his ox and live on it a while--but what am I, poor unfortunate, to do with my cat? At the most, I can have a muff for the winter made out of his fur, but I think he is even shedding it now. There he lies asleep quite comfortably--poor Hinze! Soon we shall have to part. I am sorry I brought him up, I know him as I know myself--but he will have to believe me, I cannot help myself, I must really sell him. He looks at me as though he understood. I could almost begin to cry.
[_He walks up and down, lost in thought_.]
MÜLLER.
Well, you see now, don't, you, that it's going to be a touching picture of family life? The peasant is poor and without money; now, in the direst need, he will sell his faithful pet to some susceptible young lady, and in the end that will be the foundation of his good fortune. Probably it is an imitation of Kotzebue's _Parrot_; here the bird is replaced by a cat and the play runs on of itself.
FISCHER.
Now that it's working out this way, I am satisfied too.
HINZE, the tom-cat (_rises, stretches, arches his back, yawns, then speaks_).
My dear Gottlieb--I really sympathize with you.
GOTTLIEB (_astonished_).
What, puss, you are speaking?
THE CRITICS (_in the pit_).
The cat is talking? What does that mean, pray?
FISCHER.
It's impossible for me to get the proper illusion here.
MÜLLER.
Rather than let myself be disappointed like this I never want to see another play all my life.
HINZE.
Why should I not be able to speak, Gottlieb?
GOTTLIEB.
I should not have suspected it; I never heard a cat speak in all my life.
HINZE.
Because we do not join in every conversation, you think we're nothing but dogs.
GOTTLIEB.
I think your only business is to catch mice.
HINZE.
If we had not, in our intercourse with human beings, got a certain contempt for speech, we could all speak.
GOTTLIEB.
Well, I'll own that! But why don't you give any one an opportunity to discover you?
HINZE.
That's to avoid responsibility, for if once the power of speech were inflicted on us so-called animals, there wouldn't be any joy left in the world. What isn't the dog compelled to do and learn! The horse! They are foolish animals to show their intelligence, they must give way entirely to their vanity; we cats still continue to be the freest race because, with all our skill, we can act so clumsily that human beings quite give up the idea of training us.
GOTTLIEB.
But why do you disclose all this to me?
HINZE.
Because you are a good, a noble man, one of the few who take no delight in servility and slavery; see, that is why I disclose myself to you completely and fully.
GOTTLIEB (_gives him his hand_).
Good friend!
HINZE.
Human beings labor under the delusion that the only remarkable thing about us is that instinctive purring which arises from a certain feeling of comfort; for that reason they often stroke us awkwardly and then we usually purr to secure ourselves against blows. But if they knew how to manage us in the right way, believe me, they would accustom our good nature to everything, and Michel, your neighbor's tom-cat, would even at times be pleased to jump through a hoop for the king.
GOTTLIEB.
You're right in that.
HINZE.
I love you, Master Gottlieb, very much. You have never stroked me the wrong way, you have let me sleep when I felt like it, you have objected whenever your brothers wanted to take me up, to go with me into the dark, and see the so-called electrical sparks--for all this I now want to show my gratitude.
GOTTLIEB.
Noble-hearted Hinze! Ah, how unjustly do they speak ill of you and scornfully, doubting your loyalty and devotion! My eyes are being opened--how my knowledge of human nature is increasing and so unexpectedly!
FISCHER.
Friends, where has our hope for a picture of family life gone to?
LEUTNER.
Why it is almost too nonsensical.
SCHLOSS.
I feel as though I were in a dream.
HINZE.
You are a good man, Master Gottlieb; but, do not take it ill of me, you are somewhat narrow, confined--to speak out freely, not one of the best heads.
GOTTLIEB.
Alas, no!
HINZE.
You don't know now, for example, what you want to do.
GOTTLIEB.
You read my thoughts perfectly.
HINZE.
If you had a muff made out of my fur--
GOTTLIEB.
Do not take it amiss, comrade, that this idea just passed through my mind.
HINZE.
Why, no, it was an altogether human thought. Can you think of no way of managing?
GOTTLIEB.
Not a thing!
HINZE.
You might carry me around and show me for money; but that is never a sure means of support.
GOTTLIEB.
No.
HINZE.
You might publish a journal or a German paper, with the motto, _Homo sum_--or a novel; I should be willing to collaborate with you--but that is too much bother.
GOTTLIEB.
Yes.
HINZE.
Well, I'll see that I take even better care of you. Depend upon it, you are yet to become very happy through me.
GOTTLIEB.
O, best, most noble man. (_He embraces him tenderly_.)
HINZE.
But you must also trust me.
GOTTLIEB.
Entirely. Why, now I realize your honorable spirit.
HINZE.
Well, then, do me a favor and bring the shoemaker immediately to take my measure for a pair of boots.
GOTTLIEB.
The shoemaker? Boots?
HINZE.
You are surprised, but in accomplishing what I intend to do for you, I have to walk and run so much that I have to wear boots.
GOTTLIEB.
But why not shoes?
HINZE.
Master Gottlieb, you do not understand the matter; they must lend me some dignity, an imposing air, in short, a certain manliness to which one never attains in shoes.
GOTTLIEB.
Well, as you think best; but the shoemaker will be surprised.
HINZE.