Essays on German Literature: In Honour of G. Joyce Hallamore 9781442656642

Table of contents :
Foreword
Contents
CONTRIBUTORS
The Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit in Middle High German Literature
Allegory and Symbol in Hartmann’s Gregorius
Opitz’ Schäfferey von der Nimfen Hercinie in Seventeenth-Century German Literature
Poetic Imagination and External Reality in Tieck
The Grotesque in Barlach’s Works
Narrator and Narrative in Goethe’s
Ferdinand Raimund’s Gutenstein Poems
The Tailor and the Sweeper
The Professing Christian and the Ironic Humanist
Myth and Morality
“Das Gestische” and the Poetry of Brecht
Observations on Otto Flake

Citation preview

E S S A Y S ON G E R M A N L I T E R A T U R E in honour of G. Joyce Hallamore Edited by Michael S. Batts and Marketa Goetz

Stankiewicz

The present Festschrift serves a dual purpose: firstly, to honour Professor Joyce Hallamore for her contribution to German studies in Canada, particularly at the University of British Columbia; secondly, to document the flourishing state of German studies in this country. Former and present students of Professor Hallamore were asked to contribute essays from their varied fields of interest which she has stimulated and fostered; furthermore, colleagues across Canada were invited to contribute the results of their research: the broad theme of this second group of essays is the complex relationship between nineteenth and twentieth century literature which has been the centre of Professor Hallamore s own scholarly work. This volume commemorates Professor Hallamore s forty years of scholarship and teaching—the time given by her to the University of British Columbia, not only to the formation and growth of the Department of German (which she has headed for some twenty years) but to the expansion of the University as a whole. It demonstrates at the same time through breadth and variety the coming of age of German studies in Canada, which Professor Hallamore has fostered. Although the essays in this volume vary in approach, the result shows a remarkable harmony of outlook which gives evidence of the authors' conscious effort to reconsider critically traditional categories and attitudes in literary criticism. This harmony of outlook —found in the whole range of papers from the youngest to the most mature scholar —reflects the spirit and work of the person whom the volume is honouring. 7

7

s. BATTS is Professor of German at the University of British Columbia; M. G. STANKIEWICZ is Associate Professor of German at the same University. M.

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ESSAYS ON GERMAN LITERATURE in honour of G. Joyce Hallamore

edited by Michael S. Batís and Marketa Goetz Stankiewicz PUBLISHED IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA BY UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS

Copyright Canada 1968 by University of Toronto Press Printed in Canada

... nicht jeder Beliebige kann Literarhistoriker sein. Begabung wird erfordert, au fier der wissenschaftlichen Fahigkeit ein reiches und empfàngliches Herz, ein Gemüt mit vielen Saiten, das auf die verschiedensten Tone anspricht.

EMIL STAIGER

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Foreword Professor Joyce Hallamore has headed the Department of German at the University of British Columbia for almost twenty years. Those who have worked with her during this time and earlier have learned to appreciate her keen intellect and stimulating vitality, her profound sense of fairness, her responsiveness to any problem, be it academic or personal. This Festschrift is an expression of her students' and colleagues' high esteem and affection for her as a scholar and a person. The essays in this present volume reflect a response to Miss Hallamore's twofold interest. The first five essays have been contributed by past and present students, and their topics, ranging from the mediaeval period to the twentieth century, demonstrate the wide diversity of scholarly pursuit which she has stimulated and fostered. They are evidence of Miss Hallamore's deep dedication to teaching and reflect the lasting influence that she has had on her students' approach to literature. The second group of essays has been contributed by colleagues across Canada whose interests lie in those fields in which Miss Hallamore herself has worked. Her own work embraces the period from the Enlightenment (Dos Bud Laurence Sternes in Deutschland von der Aufklarung bis zur Romantik) to the twentieth century ("Paul Klee, H.H. und Die Morgenlandfahrt"), but her main interest has always been the nineteenth century and particularly Adalbert Stifter. It is the special character of the literature of this century and its complex relationship with the literature of the twentieth century which provided the theme for this second group of essays. Contributors were asked to consider the ambivalent character of nineteenth century writing which gave us both moments of idyllic security and prophetic glimpses of the upheavals which were to shatter in the early twentieth century long-cherished traditions. Each contributor was at liberty to choose his subject and each has reacted to the theme in his own way. The resulting essays show a notable similarity in outlook which is also shared by the essays of the first group. Although the approaches vary from close textual criticism (Marahrens) to psychological explorations (Kriigel), the various conclusions complement each other in the way in which they illuminate the changing

viii Foreword pattern of tradition in critical assessment. Hartmann's Gregorius is no longer seen as primarily a depiction of exemplary guilt and atonement (Picozzi) and Opitz' Hercinie is seen not as a mere "Scháferei" but rather as "a vehicle of philosophic, moral, and scientific ideas" (Maché). It is shown that Tieck's Marchenerzahlungen explore the fundamental predicament of two irreconcilable realities (Belgardt), whilst the narrator of Goethe's Wahlverwandtschaften proves to be an empirical thinker who consciously and logically counters the "unconscious, irrational" element (Marahrens), which is to be set free in the twentieth century novel. Wilhelm Raabe's characters combine "aspects of mid-twentieth century philosophy with those of timeless myth" (Stankiewicz), and even Ferdinand Raimund the "humorous" dramatist of the Viennese Volkstheater underwent a development toward "overwhelming existential loneliness" (Krugel). Dôblin, it is suggested (Riley), is perhaps more truly representative of the twentieth century than Thomas Mann, whose work "is basically a unique continuation and brilliant consummation of nineteenth century literature and ideas," and also Otto Flake may stand favourable comparison with Mann since he was "less one-sided in his contacts with civilization and far better informed on European history" (Boeschenstein). What emerges is a harmony of outlook which is not only part of the general, perhaps unconscious, trend in modern thinking, which has been defined as "creating a conscience for the scientific age," but also evidence of conscious effort on the part of the authors to reassess values, to reject traditional categories and attitudes and reshape them in the light of a less hidebound scale of values. The attempt to break new ground and to reshape old ideas is very much in Miss Hallamore's spirit. Students and colleagues alike know her as one who has throughout her career always been ready to rethink old ideas and look for new ones. All who know her will be convinced that she will continue to do so. M.S.B. M.G.S.

Contents The Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit in Middle High German Literature, EUGENE EGERT

3

Allegory and Symbol in Hartmann's Gregorius, ROSEMARY PICOZZI

19

Opitz' Schafferey von der Nimfen Hercinie in Seventeenth-Century Literature, ULRICH MACHÉ

34

Poetic Imagination and External Reality in Tieck: From Divergence to Convergence, RAIMUND BELGARDT

41

The Grotesque in Barlach's Works: Towards an Understanding of His World, BERNARD R. ANDERSON

62

Narrator and Narrative in Goethe's Die Wahlverwandtschaften, GERWIN MARAHRENS

94

Ferdinand Raimund's Gutenstein Poems, FRED KRÜGEL

128

The Tailor and the Sweeper: A New Look at Wilhelm Raabe, MARKETA GOETZ STANKIEWICZ

152

The Professing Christian and the Ironic Humanist: A Comment on the Relationship of Alfred Doblin and Thomas Mann after 1933, ANTHONY w. RILEY

177

Myth and Morality: Reflections on Thomas Mann's Doktor Faustus, LESLIE L. MILLER

195

"Das Gestische" and the Poetry of Brecht, GORDON L. TRACY

Observations on Otto Flake, HERMANN BOESCHENSTEIN

218

236

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CONTRIBUTORS

EUGENE EGERT Assistant Professor, University of Alberta (Edmonton) ROSEMARY PICOZZI Doctoral Candidate, University of British Columbia ULRICH MACHÉ Associate Professor, State University of New Yorfc (Albany) RAIMUND BELGARDT Associate Professor, Michigan State University BERNARD R. ANDERSON Doctoral Candidate, University of British Columbia GERWIN MARAHRENS Associate Professor, (Edmonton)

University of

Alberta

FRED KRÜGEL Assistant Professor, University of British Columbia MARKETA GOETZ STANKIEWICZ Associate Professor, University of British Columbia ANTHONY W. RILEY Associate Professor and Chairman, Queen's University LESLIE L. MILLER Assistant Professor, University of British Columbia GORDON L. TRACY Professor and Chairman, University of Western Ontario HERMANN BOESCHENSTEIN Professor (Chairman Emeritus, University College), University of Toronto

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ESSAYS ON GERMAN LITERATURE

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The Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit in Middle High German Literature1 EUGENE EGERT There are a number of clear references in Middle High German literature to the votive mass of the Holy Spirit, most of them in legends of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries and in the Arthurian romances. In almost all cases the mass is celebrated for the specific benefit of a character portrayed in the work, thus indicating the rather common belief in its supernatural efficacy. It is the purpose of this paper to examine the use of this special votive mass in German literature from 1150 to 1250 and thereby to illuminate its cultural and religious significance for the poets of that time.2 Being a votive service, the mass of the Holy Spirit is intended for private devotion or for a particular situation. In the Daily Missal it is today assigned to Thursday as one of the weekly votive masses, but it is not restricted to that day. This mass, which is still one of the favourite votive celebrations, is essentially the same as that for the Day of Pentecost. The two masses diflFer, however, in that the one for Pentecost is fixed in the liturgical year and is in honour of the original descent of the Holy Spirit. The votive mass of the Spirit, on the other hand, does not conform to the office of the day and may be sung at any time during the year when a votive mass is allowable. The purpose of this mass is significantly different from that of the mass of Pentecost lr

rhis paper is a reworking and expansion of chapter V of the author's dissertation, "The Holy Spirit in German Literature until the Thirteenth Century" (University of Texas, Austin, 1966). 2 There has been surprisingly little written on the mass of the Holy Spirit. Two recent brief articles by R. J. Schoeck, however, have been helpful: "Medieval Lawyers and the Red Mass: Towards a History of the Mass of the Holy Ghost," Si. Louis University Law Journal, 5 (1958-59), 274-79; and "The Mass of the Holy Ghost: A Commentary," American Ecclesiastical Review, 142 ( 1960), 387-89,

4 Eugene Egert in that it seeks to obtain the help of the Holy Spirit for a particular circumstance (e.g., the election of a pope). The votive mass of the Holy Spirit, along with a number of others, seems to have been initiated by Alcuin, the famous scholar at Charlemagne's court, about A.D. 800 or perhaps even somewhat earlier.3 Although Alcuin was perhaps not the author of all the prayers in this mass, he apparently did not draw on any extant sources. The proper of a mass of the Holy Spirit (missa de gratia sancti Spiritus postulártela) appears for the first time in Alcuin's little missal of votive masses, the Liber Sacramentorum (Migne, Pair, lot., CI, 416-66).4 We know little about the subsequent history of this mass during the next three centuries. We do know, however, that in the ninth century Alcuin's votive masses, among them that of the Holy Spirit, passed from missal to missal throughout Germany, Switzerland, France, and the Low Countries. ( In the tenth century they found their way to England and to Italy.) By A.D. 850 the monastery at Reichenau possessed all of the Alcuinian masses. The mass of the Spirit is recorded also in two manuscripts in Mainz from the second half of the ninth century. Tenth-century mass books from Worms and Fulda also contain all of the votive masses of Alcuin. Apparently Fulda was serving as a distribution point in bringing them into honour. During the eleventh century there are records of the mass of the Holy Spirit in the Micrologus and in the Prümer Lektionar. Although we do not know on what occasions and how frequently the votive mass in honour of the Holy Spirit was celebrated during the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries, we are relatively certain of some celebrations in the twelfth century in connection with the newly established universities.5 The thirteenth-century writer Odofredus makes a valuable comment in regard to the custom of celebrating this particular mass in the university at Bologna. He remarks that the mass of the Holy Spirit is sung when a book is finished and lauds the practice as a good custom. Thus by the middle of the thirteenth century its celebration must have been fairly common, at least in the Law School 3

The following sketch of the history of this mass is based primarily on Gerald Ellard, S.J., "Alcuin and Some Favoured Votive Masses," Theological Studies, 1 (1940), 37-61; and Adolph Franz, Die Messe im deutschen Mittelalter (Freiburg, 1902), pp. 115-54. 4 The Collect, Secret, and Postcommunion of today's votive Mass for Obtaining the Grace of the Holy Spirit are taken from the Alcuinian mass. 5 Schoeck, "Medieval Lawyers," 277-78.

Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit

5

at Bologna, for the fact that Odofredus refers to the celebration as a custom presupposes its existence for some time. During the thirteenth century the mass was probably also sung in France and Italy at the beginning of the academic year as well as at various juridical functions. Furthermore, at Bologna, and also in Spain, it was apparently customary to celebrate the votive mass of the Spirit to help a student on the day of his examinations. In Germany the earliest celebrations of the votive mass of the Holy Spirit were not connected with the universities or law schools; for the first university was not established until 1348 (by Charles IV in Prague). However, that the mass was celebrated on other occasions much earlier is indicated by its presence in the German missals and by frequent references to it in Middle High German literature. The first mention of the missa de Spiritu sancto in mediaeval German literature occurs in the Kaiserchronik (éd. E. Schroder, 1892), a clerical account of secular history from the time of Romulus until the beginning of the Second Crusade in 1147.6 Written between 1135 and 1155, this work of about seventeen thousand lines is a collection of novellalike tales, anecdotes, legends of saints, and various pseudo-historical accounts. In the section dealing with Pope Silvester and Emperor Constantine (11. 7806-10633), the author begins his narrative by telling of the Emperor's leprosy, of his rejecting the cure by the blood of young children, and of his subsequent vision of the apostles Peter and Paul. The apostles direct Constantine to Pope Silvester, who baptizes him. Thereupon the Emperor, who is cured of his leprosy in baptism, begins to perform deeds of Christian charity and piety. On the day after Constantine's baptism the Pope celebrates the missa de sancta sapientla ( 11. 7970-85 ) .7 Then on the third day special honour is given to the Holy Spirit: An dem dritten tage, ais ich iu nú sage, do lobeten si den hailigen gaist dem chunige ze vollaist, daz er mit im worhte aise sîn diu christenhait bedorfte. [11. 7998-8003] 6

As far as I was able to determine, this is also the earliest mention of the mass of the Spirit in any western European literature. 7 The Trier Silvester mentions only this one mass (323-£4), which today is no longer included in the Roman Missal.

6 Eugene Egert From the next line—"an des segenes ende"—and from the context, it becomes clear that these lines refer to a celebration of the mass of the Holy Spirit. The votive mass, the poet asserts, conferred divine ability upon the Emperor, enabling him to fulfil his duties as a Christian ruler. It might also be noted that the author specifies that the mass was sung on the third day after baptism, an assertion which may be intended as a symbolic association with the Holy Spirit, the third Person of the Trinity. Furthermore, the Spirit is named in the third line of the passage (1. 8000). During the remainder of the week the Pope celebrates other votive masses for the benefit of the Emperor (11. 8022-8137). On the fourth day he sings the mass of the holy angels; on the fifth, the mass of the apostles; on the sixth, the mass of the holy cross; and on the seventh, the mass of the Virgin.8 The following day, which is a Sunday, the Pope sings a mass in honour of Christ's resurrection.9 Except for the last one, the masses celebrated by Pope Silvester in the Kaiserchronik correspond almost exactly to the weekly votive masses found in sacramentaries from southwest Germany of the tenth to the twelfth centuries.10 The usual order was as follows: de trinitate, de sapientia, de Spîritu soneto, de angelis, de caritate, de cruce, de sancta Maria. The author of the Kaiserchronik omits the missa de trinitate and replaces the missa de caritate with the missa de apostolis. This latter mass, which by the way is the only one not found in Alcuin's Liber Sacramentorum, was apparently only seldom used as one of the weekly votive masses.11 After his conversion to Christianity, Constantine introduces the new faith to his followers, encouraging them to renounce the heathen gods. But his mother Helena is most disturbed about his rejection of the ancient religion. Following exchanges of messages, mother and son arrange to meet. As deliberate preparation for the meeting with the 8 These are today the weekly votive masses for Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday respectively. 9 The prose version of the Kaiserchronik from the late thirteenth century ( see the edition by F. Massmann, III, 837) also mentions several masses at this point, beginning with the mass of the Holy Spirit on the day of the baptism, a Sunday; then follow the mass of the angels, of the apostles, of the martyrs, of the saints, of the cross, and of the Virgin. lOFranz, p. 140. n Franz does not cite any occurrence of it in Germany.

Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit 7 queen mother, Pope Silvester, along with the cardinals, celebrates the votive mass of the Holy Spirit early in the morning: er sane von dem hailigen gaiste eine misse, want er vil wol wesse der chuniginne ungemuote. er bat got den guoten, daz er ir herze erchante und ouch im den hailigen gaist sante, der im sôgetâne rede gâbe, diu sínem ñamen gezâme.12 [11. 8508-15] In this instance the Spirit is implored, by means of the special mass in His honour, to be the inspirator of proper speech. The notion that the Holy Spirit inspires speech goes back to the New Testament (e.g., Matt. X, 19-20) and occurs in other Middle High German works (e.g., Hartmann von Aue, Der arme Heinrich, 11. 863-69). The Kaiserchronik itself also alludes to the Holy Spirit's role in Christian instruction (11. 8332-39; 8721-29; 9860^-68). In the legendary biography of Charlemagne (11. 14282-15091) the Kaiserchronik poet asserts that the Roman Empire had no king until Charlemagne and that the latter's brother Leo was pope. One night, the author goes on to relate, Charlemagne three times heard a voice, instructing him to proceed to Rome because Leo was asking for him. Having obtained permission from his father, King Pippin, Charlemagne leaves for Rome. Upon his brother's arrival, Pope Leo sings the votive mass of the Holy Spirit particularly for Charlemagne's benefit (11. 14346-59). Thus as in the other two cases in the Kaiserchronik the missa de Spiritu sancto is celebrated to confer special benefit upon an individual, although in this last instance the nature of the blessing is not specified: the author simply uses the general term ze volleist (1. 14353), which frequently provides a convenient rhyme for geist in Middle High German literature ( cf. 1. 8001 ). It was probably the intention of the poet to emphasize the importance of the Holy Spirit in this passage by using the number seven in the structure. The passage on the mass of the Spirit contains fourteen lines (two times seven), and the third Person of the Trinity is named precisely in the seventh 12 The Trier Silvester legend lacks this celebration, as does the thirteenth-century prose version of the Kaiserchronik.

8 Eugene Egert (1. 14352). Primarily because of His seven gifts, seven in mediaeval thought is the number of the Holy Spirit (e.g., Isidore, MPL, LXXXIII, 187). One other reference to the votive mass of the Holy Spirit from about the middle of the twelfth century occurs in the Middle High German Sanct Brandan legend (éd. C. Schroder, 1871). The text of the poem has come down to us only in manuscripts from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, but it is based on an original composed around 1150. The legend recounts that St. Brandan one day reads a book about unusual wonders. Believing them to be impossible, he throws the book into the fire. As punishment for his unbelief, God commands him to seek out the wonders of the sea for nine years. Near the end of his journey the saint and his associates find themselves drifting on the open sea. When they cast the anchors overboard, the ship is mysteriously held fast by a monstrous fish. But soon a hermit and a dwarf appear and help the strangers out of their distress. As the single reward for their assistance, the rescuers request that the saint and his company sing a votive mass for them in honour of God and of the Holy Spirit (11. 1575-79).13 As in the Kafcerchronik the author of the Middle High German Brandan poem reflects the common mediaeval belief that this particular mass bestows divine favour upon those on whose behalf it is celebrated, although the nature of the benefits expected is again not stated. A similar conviction that the missa de Spiritu sancto confers special blessings can be found as well in legends of the thirteenth century. Otte's Eraclius (ed. H. Graef, 1883), written about 1210, contains two such references. In the first, an angel one night instructs Cassinia, a barren Roman woman living with her husband Myriados, that God has heard their prayer and will give them a son and heir. Although her request will be granted, she is commanded to seek God's grace by, among other things, having a mass of the Holy Spirit sung the next morning (11. 248-57). The use of the special mass for the purpose of imploring God to grant a child to a barren woman was not introduced 13

The Latin and the Low German versions of the legend do not have the mass of the Holy Spirit here, while the late MHG chap-book mentions a mass but no longer specifies it as a votive mass in honour of the Spirit. These three works can all be found in the edition by C, Schroder.

Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit 9 by Otte; his source, the French poem of the same name by Gautier d'Arras (ca. 1165), already contains this reference (11. 172-78), which Otte simply took over from the French version. The son born to Cassinia is Eraclius, the eponymous hero of the poem. Having become emperor at Rome, he undertakes a crusade against the heathen king of Persia, Cosdroas, who has removed the holy cross from Jerusalem. Prior to the combat with Cosdroas' son, Eraclius prepares himself for battle by a vigil of prayer throughout the night. Before daybreak he has the chaplain celebrate the usual morning mass ( 11. 4926-28 ). Afterwards prayers are said and the votive mass of the Holy Spirit is celebrated: und als diu gesungen wart und sich der tac hete erbart, dô hiez er prime sprechen sân, dar nâch messe âne van von dem heilegen geiste, dem er dienest gerne leiste. [11. 4929-34] Here the mass in honour of the Spirit, who is viewed almost as a patron saint, serves as a means of divine protection and assistance in combat. This view of the mass recurs, as will be indicated later, in the Arthurian romances of the courtly period. Gautier d'Arras, it should be noted, does not mention the votive mass of the Holy Spirit in this episode; the knightly custom of attending the mass before combat was probably introduced into mediaeval literature by Chrétien de Troyes, the famous French poet of the late twelfth century. Rudolf von Ems in Der guote Gêrhart ( éd. J. A. Asher, Altdeutsche Textbibliothek, 56, 1962) recounts the biography of the wealthy Cologne merchant Gerhart who liberated many Christian knights and ladies held captive in the Orient, among them the princess of Norway. After some time she and her fiance, King William of England, are reunited and married in Cologne. Gerhart, an example of Christian humility and generosity, oifers to return them to England in his own ships. On the day they intend to leave, Gerhart commits himself to God, praying for His protection (11. 5206-9). Moreover, to assure the success of the difficult undertaking, he has the mîssa de Spiritu sancto celebrated:

10 Eugene Egert von dem heiligen geiste bat ich durch guot gelingen uns ein messe singen. die hôrten wir mit vreuden dâ. [11. 5210-13] In Rudolfs work this special mass has thus become a means of seeking divine aid for an important venture and not just a means of conferring spiritual or physical blessings upon an individual, as was the case in all of the previous examples. The celebration of the votive mass in Gêrhart is for the benefit of a large group of people whose lives may be in peril. Hence, as in Eraclius, the Holy Spirit's role as protector is implied in the passage quoted above. A similar confident conviction that the Holy Spirit will grant success occurs in Ukich von Turheim's Rennetoart ( éd. A. Hubner, Deutsche Texte des Mittelalters, 39, 1938), a lengthy, mid-century continuation of Wolfram von Eschenbach's Willehalm, although here there is no mention of a mass in His honour. Rennewart, son of a heathen king, after his baptism wants to win King Loys' daughter Alise as wife. During the family counsel before their engagement, the wise Hymrich attempts to remove all objections by referring to the particular season (i.e.s Pentecost): hiut ist des heren geistes tac, da von uns nymmer enmac hie an iht misselingen. [IL 4883-85] According to mediaeval thinking, the Holy Spirit, whether through the mass in His honour or through days of veneration, seems to assure success for many different ventures. There is a unique reference to the votive mass of the Holy Spirit in Strieker's Pfaffe Amis (éd. H. Lambel, 1872), a collection of satirical tales about a priest who performed a number of irreligious pranks. In the tenth tale the trickery of the rogue reaches its high point as he sets out to deceive a naïve prior by singing a mass for him: do huop der phaffe Amis zehant von dem heilgen geiste unde sane ein messe schoene unde lane. [U. 1462-64]

Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit 11 The prior, believing Amis to be an uneducated man, assumes that the Holy Spirit has given him divine ability to celebrate the beautiful mass (11. 1465-76). In his note to line 1463 the editor Lambel implies that Strieker was of the same opinion. Lambel maintains that von designates the effective cause of the performance, that the rogue sang the mass through the inspiration of the Spirit.14 However, as has become evident from previous quotations ( e.g., Kaiserchronik, 1. 8508; Emclius, 11. 4932-33; Der guate Gêrhart, 11. 5210-12), the von commonly indicates the particular type of mass being celebrated. Furthermore, it seems improbable that Strieker, a thirteenth-century Catholic, would make the Holy Spirit party to an impious deceit. It can of course then be argued that the author is rather sacrilegious by allowing the rogue to make a mockery out of the sacred celebration of the votive mass of the Spirit. But in this way Strieker may very well be satirizing the superstitious beliefs which had by the second quarter of the thirteenth century become associated with this particular mass. In all probability there was also considerable superstition connected with the knightly custom of attending the votive mass of the Holy Spirit before tourneys and combats. By attending the sacred ceremony the knight hoped to obtain supernatural aid and protection for that day. The most frequent references to the custom can be found, as might be expected, in the Arthurian romances. As was indicated above, the legends contain only one such reference (i.e., Eraclius, 11. 4929^34), and that celebration is before a combat of a Christian against a heathen. In the Arthurian epics the encounter is not necessarily of a serious religious nature. Hartmann von Aue (ft. 1185-1200) is the first German poet who has knights attend the missa de Spiritu sancto before a tournament or combat.15 In Erec (ed. A. Leitzmann, ATB, 39, 1963) the poet begins his epic by showing how the young knight Erec was insulted by Ider's dwarf. At the tournament in Tulmein Erec has the opportunity to take revenge on Ider for his lost honour. Prior to their encounter Erec demonstrates his reliance upon God by attending the early morning mass, which Hartmann specifies as a votive mass of the Holy Spirit: l4

Erzahlungen und Schwànke (Leipzig, 1872), p. 67. A. E. Schônbach, Uber Hartmann von Aue (Graz, 1894), p. 21, points out that the church never approved of the knightly combat, yet did not withhold its blessing from the participants. 15

12 Eugene Egert mit dirre rede si kâmen dâ si messe vernâmen von dem heiligen geiste: des phlegent si aller meiste die ze ritterschefte sinnent und turnieren minnent.16 [11. 662-67] Hartmann took over the first three lines of the passage from his source Chrétien de Troves, who has the mass sung by a hermit in a church ( 11. 700-2 ). Chretien's Erec thus apparently contains the first reference in mediaeval literature to the custom of attending the mass in honour of the Spirit before knightly combat. In his book on Hartmann, Schônbach (p. 21), it seems to me, correctly concludes from lines 665-67 in Erec—which are not in Chretien's work—that attendance at this private mass did not become customary in Germany until Hartmann's time and that the custom was probably taken over from French chivalry. As part of the celebrations for Erec and Enide's wedding, a large tournament is planned for the knights. Early in the morning of the second day Erec attends church to obtain God's favour and to pray for success (11. 2487-2500). We can infer from this passage that he must have heard a mass, for Hartmann begins the following section with, "als sich endete der segen . . " (1. 2501), words which clearly refer to the final blessing of the mass. Later in the morning Erec's companions also attend mass, a practice that, as Hartmann clearly indicates, had become customary for knights about to participate in a tournament: wan als schiere er wider in kam, do wâren si allé ûz komen und hâten messe vernomen, ais sis beginnen solden die turnieren wolden. [11. 2539-43] 16

As Schônbach observed (p. 21), F. Bech's note to these lines in his edition of Erec ("durch den heiligen Geist in der Messe gestárkt, empfangen die frommen Hitter ein Übergewicht und eine gewisse Hoffnung des Sieges über ihre Gegner") is incorrect in that the reference to the Holy Spirit specifies the type of mass involved—messe von dem heiligen geiste is the usual way of identifying this specific votive celebration.

Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit 13 Chrétien, it may be noted, does not mention a mass on this occasion. Judging from the context, it seems likely that Hartmann in both of the above instances had in mind the votive celebration in honour of the Holy Spirit, since the pattern is the same as in the previous case. Hearing the mass signifies a religious preparation for the participant in combat. Also, it may not be entirely fortuitous that the section describing Erec's attendance at mass consists of exactly fourteen lines (11. 2487-2500). Perhaps Hartmann intended to allude to the Holy Spirit by means of the number seven which is so often associated with the Spirit in mediaeval works (see also above pp. 7-8). After Erec has forfeited his knightly honour because of the sin of sich verligen, he sets out to re-establish his position in the courtly world by a series of knightly adventures. The most serious of these is the last one, the life-or-death encounter with Mabonagrin. Before this combat Erec once again prepares himself by attending the votive mass of the Holy Spirit: mit vrouwen Enîten er kam dâ er messe vernam in des heilegen geistes ere, und vlêhete got vil sere daz er im behielte den lip. [11. 8636-40] In the above passage, which Chrétien again lacks, Hartmann makes clear the religious significance of the mass—it is connected with the prayer for protection against death. That the Holy Spirit is of central importance in this episode is symbolically and directly indicated. The entire section dealing with the mass of the Spirit again contains fourteen lines (11. 8632-45). The Holy Spirit is named only once, but then exactly in the seventh line (1. 8638). Furthermore, two of the Spirit's gifts, wisdom and fear (cf. Is. XI, 2-3), are indicated in the first three lines (11. 8632-34). Erec, one of the wîsen, performs these sacred duties because the Holy Spirit has given him wisdom (the first gift) and fear (the seventh gift). These two gifts of the Spirit prompt him to pray for God's protection in the dangerous combat (11. 8642-44).17 In Iwein (ed. G. F. Benecke and K. Lachmann, 1926) Hartmann von 17

Cf. P. W. Tax, "Studien zum Symbolischen in Hartmanns Erec" Wirkendes Wort, 13 (1963), 282.

14 Eugene Egert Aue also has the hero attend mass before two combats, both of them against giants. Like Erec, Iwein has to regain his honour by various adventures, among them the dangerous encounter with the giant Harpin. Early in the morning he places himself under God's care by attending mass (11. 4818-24). Although it is not identified as a mass in honour of the Holy Spirit either in Hartmann or in Chrétien (11. 4030-33), it is probably safe to assume that it was this particular mass, since the pattern is the same as in all of the cases in Erec: attendance at the mass precedes an unusually difficult combat and is intended as a religious preparation. That Hartman had the votive mass of the Spirit in mind may perhaps also be inferred from the symbolic structure of the passage—it consists of precisely seven lines, and the mass itself is named in the central line (1. 4821). Preceding the even more difficult combat with the two giants at the castle in which the three hundred women are held captive, Iwein again pays homage to the Holy Spirit in the customary fashion and thereby seeks to assure his own safety. Here the religious service he attends is clearly designated as a mass of the Spirit both in Chrétien (11. 5448-56) and in Hartmann: morgen, do ez tac wart under sîn êrste vart dem heiligen geiste mit einer messe leíste, dô wolter urloup hân genomen. [11. 6587-91] Hartmann has constructed this short passage in perfect symmetry, with the naming of the Holy Spirit exactly in the centre (1. 6589). Hartmann's mastery is also demonstrated by his artistic use of the votive mass of the Spirit in the larger context of the structure. In Erec there are two clearly identified celebrations of the mass, one near the beginning of the work and one near the end. Both of them take place before a difficult single combat, but the second one is undoubtedly the more important encounter. In the combat with Ider, Erec is fighting for his personal honour, while in the combat with Mabonagrin he is fighting for his very life as well as for the life of others. In doubling the motif, Hartmann intensifies its importance, poetically and religiously. There is a similar doubling in Iwein. The first celebration

Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit 15 of the special mass—before the combat with Harpin—is stressed less since Hartmann does not name the Holy Spirit. But as in Erec there is an intensification in the second celebration (before the combat with the two giants). The Holy Spirit is explicitly named in an entire, central line, indicating the importance the poet attaches to this event. Even in Gregorius (ed. H. Paul, ATB 2, 1963), his first religious work, Hartmann von Aue inserts a reference to the same knightly practice. Like Erec and Iwein, Gregory, who has come to the home of his mother by divine direction, reveals his confidence in God by attending mass before engaging his mother's oppressor in combat (11. 2080-83). But Hartmann here does not identify the type of mass the hero attended. In Gottfried von Strassburg's Tristan (éd. F. Ranke, 1930) the knights attend mass after the accolade to receive God's blessing (11. 5012-18) and then leave for the knightly games. The nature of the mass is not specified, although it may have been the missa de Spiritu sancto. It is noteworthy, however, that Tristan (before he himself offers to fight Morold) suggests to the knights that they choose one of their number willing to fight and that they all pray: "daz ime der heilege geist / gelucke gebe und ere" (11. 6122-23). There is also a mass mentioned in the Nibelungenlied ( ed. K. Bartsch and H. de Boor, 1961) when Siegried is dubbed a knight (st. 33,1.1). Wolfram von Eschenbach in his Parzival (éd. K. Lachmann, 1926) has the knights attend mass before meeting an opponent, but he too does not designate the mass as to its type (36, 3-10; 378, 21-27; 705, 1-13; 802, 21-26). The mass is usually sung for God and for the knight, a rather unusual formula the second half of which laconically reveals the poet's belief in its assumed supernatural efficacy. Perhaps the custom of attending the votive mass of the Holy Spirit had by this time become so common that the poets no longer believed it absolutely necessary to identify it as such. In the less well-known Arthurian epics there are a few references to this mass as well; in some it is named, in others the designation is left open. Ulrich von Zatzikhoven, for example, relates in his Lanzelet ( ed. K. A. Hahn, 1845 ) that the knights committed themselves to God's care before combat (11. 1905-9; 3090-97; 3930-39). There is no direct mention of a mass, yet it is probably implied because as in Hartmann

16 Eugene Egert and Wolfram the knights expect divine assistance. One passage mentions mass but no combat follows (11. 5702-7). Wigalois, the hero of the early thirteenth-century romance by Wirnt von Gravenberc (ed. J. M. N. Kapteyn, 1926), goes to hear an unidentified mass before the encounter with Hojir (11. 2967-80). Later the poet writes specifically that a mass of the Holy Spirit was celebrated for the hero to assure his victory in another adventure (11. 4370-84). Heinrich von dem Turlîn asserts in Diu Crône (éd. G. H. F. Scholl, 1852) that King Arthur had the bishop of Gerunge sing a votive mass of the Spirit early in the morning before the combat with Gasozein (11. 10458-64). The reason for the celebration is explicitly stated: "sînem kampfe ze volleiste" (1. 10464). In Der Mantel (éd. O. Warnatsch, 1883) the same author recounts how Arthur and his whole court begin the day by hearing the mass of the Holy Spirit, although in this case there is no indication that it precedes a combat (11. 370-78). The references to the missa de Spiritu sancto in Heinrich von dem Türlin's works ( ca. 1225) are among the last in mediaeval German literature. I was unable to find any specific reference to the mass in subsequent Arthurian romances (e.g., Wigamur, Der Pleier's Tandareis unà Flordibel and Meleranz, and Albrecht's Jüngerer Titurel). The dogmatic basis for the custom of attending the votive mass of the Holy Spirit before knightly encounters was no doubt the mediaeval belief that attendance at mass assured the Christian of special grace in case death should overtake him that day.18 The author of the Deutung der Messgebrauche ( ed. F. Pfeiffer, Zeitschrift fur deutsches Altertum, 1 (1841), 270-84), written in the second half of the twelfth century, asserts succinctly: "begriffet in des tages der tôt / div misse hilfet ime uzzer not" (11. 89-90). Other poets never put this into a specific statement, but by allusion reveal their acceptance of the opinion. Perhaps the most direct comment on the subject in a secular work comes from Wolfram's Parzival: Gâwân und der schahteliur, durch der sêle âventiur und durch ir saelden urhap ein pfaffe in eine messe gap. [378, 21-24] 18

See Franz, pp. 64-67, for a more detailed discussion of this notion.

Votive Mass of the Holy Spirit 17 For Wolfram, and he is apparently following a commonly held view, the mass is a means of conferring both physical as well as spiritual benefits upon the participating knights. In Gauriel von Muntabel (ed. F. Khull, 1885), an Arthurian romance from the thirteenth century, Konrad von Stoffeln stresses the idea of heil, which also carries with it ambivalent reference to the secular and the religious : des morgens vil vruo sie bereiten sich dar zuo, do sane man eine messe in. Erec ûf heiles gewin vernams in guoter andâht. [11. 2158-62] Since they believed that the mass assured them of salvation, it is understandable that Christian knights generally attended the morning mass, and often it was the one in honour of the Holy Spirit, before facing a dangerous opponent. The belief in the protective efficacy of the mass of the Spirit may also be related to the general notion held during this age that the Holy Spirit is particularly concerned about man's welfare and safety. Gottfried von Strassburg, for example, expresses this conviction (see above p. 15) and it is attested to by prayers and benedictions requesting the aid or intercession of the Holy Spirit. The author of the Old High German Tobiassegen (Mullenhoff and Scherer, Denkmaler, I, 183-92), for instance, expresses a firm trust in the Spirit's concern for man in the form of a traveller's wish: "der heilige geist dich bewar" (1. 44).19 Then in the Kindheit Jesu legend by Konrad von Fussesbrunnen (ed. K. Kochendorffer, 1881), Elisabeth commends her cousin Mary into the protective care of the Holy Spirit (11. 365-66). When the holy family takes leave of its host in Egypt, the same wish is again expressed, this time for the Spirit's protection of the Christ child (11. 1902-3). In the Palâstinalied, Walther von der Vogelweide ( éd. K. Lachmann and Carl von Kraus, 1959) recounts the life of Christ and the descent of the Holy Spirit, at which point he inserts a parenthetical but significant 19

Hugo Moser, "Vom Weingartner Reisesegen zu Walthers Ausfahrtsegen," Beitràge zur Geschichte der deutschen Sprache und Literatur, 82, Sonderband (Halle, 1961), 85, maintains that this is the only occurrence of a prayer to the Holy Spirit in the traveller's wishes. He apparently was not aware of the prayers in the Kindheit Jesu and in Walther's crusade song, all of which express a wish for the Spirit's protection on a journey.

18 Eugene Egert prayer for the protection of the Holy Spirit: "der uns bewar" (16, 4).20 This prayer recalls briefly the important role of the third Person of the Trinity in relation to mankind in general and to the Christian knight in particular. According to the poets of the Middle High German works, this relationship was maintained and strengthened by attending the votive mass in honour of the Holy Spirit. 20

The genuineness of this strophe has been denied by some Walther scholars (e.g., Kraus, 1935, pp. 33-44). Others, however, have maintained it as genuine (e.g., Maurer, ATB, 43, 1960). For my purposes the dispute is not of vital importance, because the prayer loses none of its significance even if Walther were not the author.

Allegory and Symbol in Hartmann's Gngorius ROSEMARY PICOZZI

In the concluding remarks to his article "Brauchen wir ein neues HartmannbilcT1 H. Sparnaay wrote: Auf eins môchte ich noch hinweisen, weil es gerade fur Hartmann von so groEer Bedeutung ist, auf die so oft bei ihm hervortretende Macht des Symbols. Beispiele gibt es bei ihm zu Dutzenden. 1st denn der Arme Hemrich wirklich krank oder ist der geistige Aussatz, die superbia gemeint? Wo Heinrich in sich geht und die superbia uberwindet, heilt Gott ihn auf der Stelle, so wie er einst den Papst Sylvester ermachtigte, den Kaiser mit der Taufe von dem geistigen Aussatz, dem Unglauben, zu heilen. Man hat das ein Wunder genannt und tatsâchlich ist es das, aber, modern ausgedriickt, sagt man lieber : ein erfülltes Symbol. Bis der Symbolwert und der Sinn von Hartmanns Dichtungen . . . erforscht sind, hat es mit der Aufstellung des "neuen Hartmannbildes" noch Zeit. Vorláufig haben wir mit der Sàuberung der Texte und der Deutung der einzelnen Vorgànge noch vollauf zu tun. [p. 649] In the great narrative poems of Middle High German literature the motifs of wounds, sickness, and healing are found everywhere and are not infrequently of great significance for the interpretation of the poems. By stressing Hartmann's extensive use of symbols and relating this to Heinrich's "sickness" and "healing" Sparnaay has raised an issue which is of fundamental importance for the understanding of the whole of Hartmann's work. The cure of the leprous Heinrich to which he refers is but one of many instances of such motifs. For example, in his first courtly epic, Erec, the hero receives a wound in the side, the healing of which proceeds as the rift between himself and Enite gradually heals. At first the wound fails to heal and reopens prior to his reunion with her; it is only finally healed once his marriage has been truly mended. The rich variety of such motifs in Iwein can be ^Deutsche Vierteljahrsschrtft, 39 (1965), 639-49.

20 Rosemary Picozzi illustrated by reference to three episodes: the "Bahrprobe" at which the wounds of the dead Ascalon bleed, showing that his slayer is in the vicinity; the allegorical Minne-wounds of Iwein which, as Hartmann tells us, strike far deeper than those inflicted by real weapons;2 and the madness of Iwein, during which the external appearance of madness indicates a state of psychological disharmony. Although the story of Gregorius, the good sinner, is less obviously related to this theme of wounds and healing, yet part of the prologue does suggest the same motif, for it contains an allegorical adaptation of a biblical story of healing, namely the parable of the Good Samaritan. It is well known that the traveller in this prologue-parable represents Gregorius, the hero of the poem proper. However, detailed studies of this equation of the traveller with Gregorius have been surprisingly limited in scope whilst the question of the latter's guilt has drawn much more attention.3 Yet if we assume that—as in the case of Der arme Heinrich—the external reality symbolizes inner states and spiritual processes, then clearly the relationship between the parable and the Gregorius action must be of the utmost importance for the understanding both of the nature of Gregorius' guilt and the nature of the process by which he is "healed." This relationship is established not only through Hartmann's introduction of the eponymous hero as the person represented in the prologue but more significantly through the extensive use in the narrative of motifs from the parable. I shall concentrate in the following on those aspects which are common and indeed essential to both prologue and narrative. The three most significant elements are the journey, the wounds, and the clothing. An analysis of these motifs reveals that a tightly knit symbolic fabric underlies the whole work and links the prologue and the narrative. The manner of this relationship is important for the "Deutung der einzelnen Vorgânge" and demonstrates in addition Hartmann's achievement in informing the work with artistic unity. 2

"Die wunden sluoc der Minnen hant, / ez ist der wunde also gewant, / si wellent daz sî langer swer / dan von swerte ode von sper." Iwein, éd. G. F. Benecke and K. Lachmann (6th éd., Berlin, 1964), 11. 1547-50. 3 E.g., M. O'C. Walshe, "The Prologue to Hartmann's Gregorius" London Medieval Studies, II, 1 (1951), 87-100; H. B. Willson, "Hartmann s Gregorius and the parable of the Good Samaritan," Modern Language Review, 54 (1959), 194-203.

Allegory and Symbol in Gregorius

21

I. The Journey Immediately prior to the parable Hartmann discusses two roads, "den wee der helle"4 and "der saelden strâze" (1. 63). The former is the "way that leadeth to destruction" (Matt. VII, 13), the easy road to hell, along which the devil can attract all sinful people unless they follow the road to heaven by overcoming zwîvel, by contrition, confession, and penance. Such people are undeterred by the necessary "bitterness" of this part of their journey before the "sweetness" of heaven can be attained: unz daz si hin leitet dâ si sich wol breitet ûz disem ellende an ein vil süezez ende. [11. 93-96] In the parable Hartmann then tells of a certain man who, in following "der saelden strâze," was eventually healed of the wounds of sin inflicted upon him. The later passages describing Gregorius on his way through the wilderness to the rock of penance contain numerous echoes of the prologue; these serve both to emphasize the identification of Gregorius with the traveller in the parable and to affirm that Gregorius is on "der saelden strâze." References to sweetness are scattered throughout the poem (e.g., II. 169, 456, 785, 1038, 1504, 3298, 3812) but these variations on the basic theme contribute little to the identification. Of far greater importance are first of all the words spoken on behalf of Gregorius by the compassionate wife of the surly fisherman, "sin vart diu ist unsüeze" (1. 2866), and secondly Gregorius' reaction to the Roman emissaries who have just told him that he is to become pope. In his reply he tries to show—as he sincerely believes—that the validity of such a summons to Rome is negated by his sinfulness; he thinks he is unworthy of such an honour; he considers his guilt is still so great and his body so impure that even grass would be damaged "von der unsüeze / miner baren vüeze" (11. 3527-28). Indeed, he does not even deem himself worthy of receiving "der siiezen weter gruoz" (1. 3529). ^Gregorius, éd. H. Paul, Altdeutsche Textbibliothek, 2 (10th éd., Tubingen, 1963), 1. 59. All further line references are to this edition.

22 Rosemary Picozzi In contrast, the road to hell as described in the prologue offers no obstacles or inconveniences to any who travel along it: der enhât stein noch stec, mos gebirge noch wait, der enhât ze heiz noch ze kalt. man vert in âne lîbes not und leitet ûf den êwigen tôt. [U. 82-86] Gregorius, however, comes across these difficulties in full measure as he goes into penance: he walks through wait (1. 2768) until he reaches the narrow path, the stic (1. 2771 ) 5 which leads him to the lake near the gebirge (1. 3224), and for seventeen years he stays ûf dem wilden steine (1. 3138), where he is exposed to the extremes of climatic conditions ( 1. 3105 ff. ). On the other hand two verbs used in the description of Gregorius first occur in the prologue portrayal of the road to heaven, wallen and wat en: die muoz man die lenge wallen unde klimmen, waten unde swimmen. [11. 90-92] Because Gregorius' handsome appearance seems to contradict his claim to be a penitent, the fisherman is loath to consider him as a "wallenden man" (1. 2919); yet he is indeed a pilgrim on the way to heaven: "er wuot diu wazzer bî dem stege" (1. 2766). The verb "klimmen" does not occur again but Gregorius obviously has to climb up on to the rock —compare the later description of the three men preparing to scale the rock (11. 3373-75). The verb "swimmen" anticipates the ferrying of Gregorius across the lake. The verbal repetitions hitherto discussed point to the identification of Gregorius with the traveller. Other occurrences of the journey motif also gain in significance when viewed in the light of the parable. Beneath the sarcastic comment "ich bringe dich wol hein" (1. 2977) made by the mistrustful fisherman who has been persuaded to take Gregorius to the rock, there lies a deeper meaning. In the prologueparable the wounded sinner is carried "home" by God's grace: 5

"Nu gie ein stîc (der was smal)" (1. 2771); cf. "Sô ist der saelden strâze . . . beide rûch unde enge" (11. 87-89) and Matt. VII, 14.

Allegory and Symbol in Gregorios

23

alsus huop in bî sîner hant diu gotes gnâde ais si in vant ûf ir mutez ahselbein und truoc in durch ruoche hein. [11. 135-138] Although the fisherman is of course far from being the good shepherd such an image would suggest, yet he does act as a tool of God's mercy; for he rows Gregorius across the lake so that his penance might be fulfilled and his sins wiped out. A second allusion to the theme of the journey worth considering in this context is Gregorius' statement to the abbot concerning his proposed career of knight-errantry. He declares that he will not cease travelling until he has discovered full knowledge of his origins: ich engerouwe niemer me und wil iemer varnde sin, mir entuo noch gotes gnâde schîn von wanne ich sí oder wer. [11. 1802-05] In the light of the parable, where the journey is brought to an abrupt and unwelcome halt by sin in the guise of "der mordaere gewalt" (11. 99), it becomes clear that, if Gregorius' intended quest is to be broken by learning more about his background, this discovery will of necessity be associated with sin. In finding his mother he simultaneously realizes that he has fallen into "der sünden gewalt" (1. 3675); his life as a knight must be curtailed and that as a penitent commence so that he may be cleansed from sin. The sea voyage which brings Gregorius to his mother's country and thus to the scene of his future sin contrasts sharply with his first "wazzerreise" (1. 776). As a child his first voyage had taken him from his mother to the abbot. His mother had placed him inside a chest in a boat, and the subsequent voyage was "piloted" by God. The boat had been taken from the shore, where his mother was standing, by "den vil rehten wunschwint" (1. 787); and even though "die wilden winde" (1. 926) later tossed the boat, God watched over the child and conducted him safely to the monastery. The second voyage brings him from the abbot to his mother. On leaving the monastery Gregorius calls on God to steer his ship, and instructs the sailors to allow the winds

24 Rosemary Picozzi

free play (11. 1825-36). As he sails away from the abbot "ein starker wint" is blowing (1. 1837), and during a storm the ship is driven to his mother's country. Although Gregorius later believes that God guided his journey (1.1868 if. ), no reference is made to divine steerage during the description of the voyage. This lack of a divine response to Gregorius' prayer indicates that this could be a fatal stage in his journey; and indeed, the traveller is soon assailed by sin. The equation of the penitent Gregorius with the stricken traveller is now reduced to its simplest formulation, for in each case the healing process consists of repentance, penance, and divine grace. I have already made mention of the healing motif as it appears in the theme of the journey. The most striking occurrence of the symbolism of healing in relation to this theme is found in the contrast between the two land journeys made by Gregorius directly before and after his penance on the rock. The contrast between these two stages in his earthly pilgrimage symbolizes the difference in Gregorius' spiritual state before and after his wounds of sin have healed. The first land journey takes place immediately after he has discovered that marriage has marred his soul; discarding his rich clothing he commences his journey by setting out alone into the wilderness. Throughout the first three days of his penance he deliberately shuns people, avoids streets, and fasts: er schûhte âne maze diu liute und die strâze undz blôze gevilde: allez gegen der wilde so rihte der arme sine wege. er wuot diu wazzer bî dem stege. mit marwen viiezen ungeschuoch streich er wait unde bruoch so daz er sins gebetes phlac ungâz unz an den dritten tac. [11. 2761-70]

When he eventually arrives at the cottage he is greeted by the fisherman with hostility as "dû starker triigenaere" (1. 2787). Having been healed of his sins Gregorius, wearing the garments symbolic of his future office (1. 3655), travels to the city of Rome, accompanied by the Romans sent to fetch him. God blesses this journey by making it easy and by providing abundant food:

Allegory and Symbol in Gregorius 25 si engeruorte uf der reise nie dehein wegevreise: ir spîse erschôz in also wol daz ir vaz alwege wâren vol, swie vil si drûz genâmen, unz si ze Rome kâmen. [11. 3747-521

Roman citizens travel out for three days to meet and accompany their new pope, who is welcomed miraculously by the ringing bells and exuberantly by the eternal city: Rome diu maere emphie ir rihtaere mit lachendem muote. [11. 3785-87]

The acts of healing that Gregorius now performs take place in crowded city streets (11. 3777-84).6

2. The Wounds Because of the content of the parable-story the motif of wounds occupies a central position in the prologue and forms the main link between the prologue and poem: noch enhân ich iu niht geseit, welh die wunden sint gewesen der er sô kume ist genesen, wie er die wunden emphie und wie er sich ir ergie âne den êwigen tôt. [11. 144-49]

However, in the main part of the work direct references to the theme are extremely rare. Thus it would at first appear that Hartmann has confined this motif to the plane of allegory, where wounds of traveller = sins of Gregorius. Yet if we examine more closely the two episodes ^Antithesis—as exemplified in my discussions of (a) the two journeys in the prologue, (b) the voyages, and (c) the land journeys—is a stylistic device frequently used by Hartmann. See F. P. Pickering, "On Coming to Terms with Curtius," German Life and Letters, 11 (1957-59), 343, for comment on the "two figures of Christ" as "accommodated" by Hartmann in 11. 3371-3465,

26 Rosemary Picozzi in which the motif occurs we shall see that they have been invested with great symbolic depth. The first instance occurs when Gregorius is on the rock. The iron fetters which bind his feet gnaw into the flesh and the resultant wounds constantly bleed: Dâ im diu îsenhalte lac beidiu naht unde tac, dâ hete si im ob dem vuoze daz vleisch harte unsuoze unz an daz bein vernozzen, sô daz si was begozzen mit bluote zallen stunden von den vrischen wunden. [U. 3449-56] These wounds will not be able to heal unless the fetters are removed, but this removal depends upon the recovery of the key thrown into the depths of the lake when the fetters were first locked on his feet. When the churlish fisherman cast the key into the water he mockingly declared that only if he found the key would he know Gregorius to be free from sin: er sprach: 'daz weiz ich âne wân, swenne ich den slüzzel vunden han ûz der tiefen iinde, sô bistû âne sünde unde wol ein heilic man. [11. 3095-99] The importance attached to these words is shown by the fact that Gregorius never forgets them and that they recur twice more in the poem: once when the key is found in the fish (11. 3301-04), and again when Gregorius, not knowing of this miraculous recovery of the key, tells the two Romans that, unless God manifests that his sins have been forgiven through bringing about such a recovery, he will never leave the rock ( 11. 3603-8 ). Furthermore, these words contain an allusion to the earlier thoughts of Gregorius' mother when she discovered that her husband was none other than her son, and thus realized: daz si aber versenket was in den vil tiefen ünden toetlícher sünden. [11. 2482-84]

Allegory and Symbol in Gregorius 27 Gregorius will know that he has risen from the depths of sin only if the key is retrieved from the depths of the lake. Thus the wounds on his legs will heal when his sins are forgiven him, for then the fetters will be removed.7 The penance ends as God bestows his grace upon the penitent, and the sinless Gregorius proceeds to Rome. As a sinful penitent his bleeding legs were locked together throughout his long years on the rock. Now the healed man leaves the rock (lat. petra) and takes into his hands the keys of St. Peter. The main features in the passages describing Gregorius' penance on the rock are important for their connection with Christian symbolism, for example, fish, key, 17, rock, man of sorrows. The analogy between Gregorius and Christ, which is continually in the background of the poem, becomes most evident when there is a transference of emphasis from the healing of Gregorius' wounds to his healing of the wounds of others.8 In Hartmann's adaptation of the parable the wounded traveller is cared for directly by God. This version of the biblical story of the Samaritan provides a vivid illustration of the customary patristic exegesis which suggests that the merciful nature of God is symbolized in the act of the Samaritan.9 In Hartmann's poem, God, like the biblical Samaritan, has compassion on the wounded man, and after sending him the protective allegorical garments of "vorhte" and "gedinge" causes the traveller's wounds to be cleansed by "triuwe" and "riuwe" before the oil of grace and the wine of the Law are poured into them. God's 7 For other occurrences of the standard legendary motifs of key and fetters see H. Gunter, Die christliche Légende des Abendlandes (Heidelberg, 1910), pp. 8384, 208. 8 For a study of this analogy from the point of view of number symbolism see F. Tschirch, "17—34—153. Der heilsgeschichtliche Symbolgrund im Gregorius Hartmanns von Aue," in Formenwandel. Festschrift zum 65. Geburtstag von Paul Bockmann, ed. W. Müller-Seidel and W. Preisendanz (Hamburg, 1964), pp. 27-46. 9 A miniature in the Byzantine Codex Rossanensis depicts Christ as the Samaritan. "The good Samaritan is represented by Christ himself, three distinct phases in the story being in one undivided miniature. . . . Christ, assisted by an angel, tends the wounded man, who lies prostrate on the ground; the second and third scenes are combined in true 'continuous* method, our Lord being depicted as at the same time leading a mule on which the wounded man is seated, and giving money to the innkeeper." J. A. Herbert, Illuminated Manuscripts (London, 1911), p. 25. See also F. P. Pickering, Literatur und darstellende Kunst im Mittelalter, Grundlagen der Germanistik, IV (Berlin 1966), p. 208.

28 Rosemary Picozzi

merciful aid and the stricken sinner's own efforts together provide the efficacious healing remedy. The divine healing power is finally transferred to Gregorius: in his life as pope he is God's representative on earth and thus fills the role of the Samaritan. On his triumphant entry into Rome he heals the sick as they lie by the wayside, and this is an obvious parallel to biblical descriptions of Christ. Gregorius' healing powers extend to those sick in spirit, for he is the "heilaere / der sêle wunden" (11. 3791-92). The equation of the traveller of the prologue with Gregorius has now been transcended, for, as the "heilaere," Gregorius himself finally has the power to heal the wayfarer who has been assailed by sin.10 3. The Clothing11 Gregorius is rich in references to clothing and these must be related to the content of the parable, although the clothing motif in the prologue-parable is couched in purely allegorical terms. The traveller, thrown to the ground by his assailants, is first stripped of his "sinne kleit" (1. 103)12 and then clothed ("an geleit") with wounds: dâ hâten si in nider geslagen und im vrevellîche entragen aller sîner sinne kleit und hâten in an geleit vil marterlîche wunden. [11. 101-05]

God's initial act of mercy is to send the man the garments of hope and fear which he has fashioned as a protection for all sinners (11. 110-16). Later, no traces remain of the wounds of sin which formerly covered the man, and he can now take up his position above all Christianity: daz er âne masen gênas und sît ein wârer kemphe was, er eine über al die kristenheit. [11. 141-43] 10

Cf. F. Tschirch "Gregorius der heilaere—eine Wort- und Bedeutungstudie zu Hartmanns BuEer-Legende" in Festschrift Quint (Bonn, 1964), pp. 237-50. n The function of clothing as a symbolic device in Parzival has been discussed by D. Blamires in Characterization and Individuality in Wolfram's "Parzival" (Cambridge, 1966). 12 Cf. the warning made by the young girl to her brother: "la dich von dînen sinnen / den tiuvel niht bringen" (11. 382-83).

Allegory and Symbol in Gregorius 29 (a) siàin wât Within the main part of the poem silk and the clothes made from this material play a key role in serving as a constant reminder of the proximity of sin. The infant Gregorius is wrapped in silk by his incestuous mother when she tearfully places him in the small chest: dâ wart daz schoene kindelîn mit manigem trahen in geleit, under unde iiber gespreit also rîchiu sîdîn wât daz nieman bezzere hat. [11. 708-12] The abbot weeps copiously on taking his protégé into the small room which is well provided with "sîdîner waete" and where the tablet has been kept since Gregorius' arrival, for the latter will now read the inscription and thus learn of his sinful conception: Sus vuorte in der getriuwe man vil sere weinende dan ûf eine kemenâten die er vil wol berâten mit sîdîner waete vant. [11. 1739-43] Upon recognizing the silk with which she had covered her infant son, Gregorius' mother is reminded of her sinful past (11. 1939-54). Yet she refrains from inquiring as to how the knight, wearing clothes fashioned from such material, first came by the silk. Had she asked, the second incest would possibly have been avoided, but now mother and son must remain ignorant of each other's identity until after their marriage. Finally, Gregorius' first action on setting out into the wilderness is to remove his rich clothes and to don a hair shirt ("ein haerîn hemede" [1.3112]): hin têt er diu rîchen kleit und schiet sich von dem lande mit dürftigen gewande. [11. 2748-50] This gives a positive indication that Gregorius is seeking to sever himself from his heritage of sin (silk) and at the same time acknowledging his present sinful condition (hair shirt).

30 Rosemary Picozzi Although the hyperbolical description of the man the Roman emissaries did not find on the rock and the following passage depicting Gregorius' condition after his penance are in the patristic tradition of the "two figures of Christ,"13 thus underlining the prevailing analogy with Christ, there is another level of meaning in these lines. The Romans did not see Gregorius in his former state, a perfection of physical manhood, dressed in such rich silk clothes: daz nieman deheine von edelem gesteine, von sîden und von golde bezzer haben solde. [11. 3385-88] Nor, on the other hand, did they find him wearing the hair shirt. Neither silk clothes nor the penitential hair shirt are appropriate for the purity of Gregorius' present spiritual condition. When the Romans find him, he is naked (1. 3410). (b) phaflîchiu kleit A second instance of the way in which the technique of changing clothes has relevance for an understanding of the poem is the reference to the "kutte" and the priestly vestments worn by Gregorius. When six years of age he is dressed by the abbot in "solher wât / diu pháflichen stât" (11. 1161-62). Such will remain his manner of dress until he leaves the monastery and ventures out into the chivalric world. As an illustration to his argument that Gregorius should not leave his ordo by giving up life in the monastery, the abbot tells him that the monastic garb never suited anyone better than him: dû bist vil wol geschaflfen zeinem gotes kinde und ze korgesinde: diu ku-tte gestuont nie manne baz. [11.1554-57] Countering this argument Gregorius then suggests a compromise. Should knightly attire not become him he will resign himself to the kutte: 13

See footnote 6.

Allegory and Symbol in Gregorius

31

Herré, nú versuochet ouch daz und gebet mir ritterlíche wat: dêswâr ob si mir missestât, sô gan ich ir wol eim andern man und lege die kutten wider an. [U. 1558-62] His new clothes are made of the silk first laid with him in the chest (11. 1641-43), but no mention is now made as to whether they suit him or not, for Gregorius' command of the language of chivalry has meanwhile shown the abbot that Gregorius does not belong (as yet) to the religious life. Even when he has read the inscription on the tablet Gregorius fails to be persuaded to remain with the abbot; he leaves by boat, taking with him the ivory tablet, the silk, and the gold which accompanied him on his first journey by sea. The initial voyage brought him away from the scene of his parents' sin; the second will lead him into the incestuous marriage with his mother.

(c) an geleit In the prologue the traveller is clothed or "an geleit" (1. 104) with the wounds of sin. Although we are not told whether the new clothes suit Gregorius, in the abbot's last words we can detect an echo of the prologue which indicates that wearing the knightly dress is an unwise, potentially harmful, and sinful action on Gregorius' part: dêswâr, daz geloube mir, gestâstû bî der ritterschaft, sich, sô mêret sich diu kraft dîner tagelîchen missetât und enwirt dm niemer rat: dâ von sô là din irrikeit die dû an hast geleit unde diene gote hie. [11. 1786-93] The wounds of the stricken traveller are dressed by "diu geistlîche triuwe / gemischet mit der riuwe" (11. 125-26) which is essential for the pardon of a sinner. In the course of the poem we see the selfimposed chastisement of the sinful mother and son which prefaces their ultimate pardon, and to which allusions are made in the phraseology of the parable. Of the mother we read "ouch hete si an sich geleit /

32 Rosemary Picozzi diu riuwe und die arbeit" (11. 3847-48), and of Gregorius "er hat an sich I von riuwen solhe not geleit" (11. 3886-87). In the prologue we also learn that all sinners are sent the protection of God's mercy as manifested in the allegorical garments of hope and fear: diu got selbe worhte daz si im ein schirm waeren und alien sundaeren. [11. 114-16] This protection motif is brought out again in the depiction of Gregorius on the rock: his only constant "scheraT (1. 3107) against the weather is "den gotes segen" (1. 3110). The hair shirt which he wears on commencing the penance drops off during the years on the rock, and thus Gregorius, on being found by the Romans, "was nacket unde blôz" (1. 3410). He was bereft of all signs of physical beauty (1. 3423 ff.) yet acceptable to God because spiritually pure: sus vunden si den gotes trût, einen dürftigen ûf der erde, ze gote in hôhem werde, den liuten widerzaeme, ze himele vil genaeme. [11. 3418-22] Although the hair shirt, the symbol of his acknowledged sin, no longer covers him, yet still clinging to Gregorius are the last vestiges of his former sinful state, namely the iron fetters. Upon his release from the fetters Gregorius is free to answer the summons to Rome. Once the wounds of the traveller in Hartmann's version of the parable had healed "âne masen" (1. 141) he could take up his exalted position: Gregorius has shed all traces of sin and is raised to the papal throne. This, the final stage in his earthly pilgrimage, is represented by his new clothing, for upon leaving the rock Gregorius dons the vestments proper to his vocation: Er entslôz die îsenhalten. do teilten die alten mit im ir pháflíchiu kleit: und aïs er an wart geleit, do vuorten si mit in dan disen sundelôsen man ab dem wilden steine. [U. 3653-59]

Allegory and Symbol in Gregorius

33

A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among robbers, who also stripped him and having wounded him went away, leaving him half dead. [Luke X, 30]

In this single introductory verse to the biblical parable of the Good Samaritan a concise account is given of the travelling, derobing, and wounding of the man whose plight aroused the compassion of the passing Samaritan. The latter, in aiding the injured man, "bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine" (Luke X, 34) and provided for his further welfare. In its literal evaluation the scriptural parable of the Good Samaritan teaches love of one's neighbour—"Go, and do thou in like manner" (Luke X, 37). The essential elements in this parable, namely the interrupted journey, the stripping and wounding of the man, and the benevolent action of the Samaritan, have been adapted and expanded by Hartmann in Gregorius. In the prologue he treats the parable allegorically, and at the same time links it with the subject of his narrative. But, as my analysis has shown, the three basic motifs as they appear in the poem proper are then not used allegorically but symbolically and in varied forms. A thematic and stylistic relationship is thus established between prologue and narrative, a relationship which serves not only to deepen our understanding of the "Symbolwert und Sinn" of Hartmann's work, but also to heighten our appreciation of the artistic unity of the poem.

Opitz' Schâfferey von der Nimfen Herdnie in Seventeenth-Century German Literature1 ULRICH MACHÉ

Previous studies of the Schâfferey von der Nimfen Hercinie suggest that the most important scholarly question connected with Opitz' once famous work is that of its literary sources and that, in turn, the principal verdict to emerge from such consideration is an indictment of the poet's lack of originality.2 Under these circumstances it is not surprising that critics generally ignored the fact that Opitz' borrowings from Sannazaro's Arcadia, from Cicero, and many others, were, by the standards of seventeenth-century poetics, fully justified. Furthermore, no serious attempts have been made to evaluate Opitz' Hercinie in its significance for the seventeenth-century reader. Much of the unsympathetic treatment which Hercinie has received is undoubtedly due to the fact that it partly consists of occasional verse. This led one critic to speak of "verpfuschte Anlage," "fehlerhafter Aufbau," and of "dichterische Notlôsung einer au 6 erdichterischen Aufgabe."3 This "au Ê erdichterische Aufgabe" refers clearly to the glorification of the house of SchaflFgotsch, to passages of panegyric poetry that comprise about one-quarter of the text. These sections have irritated critics to an extent that they dismissed the remaining parts of Hercinie as "Aufputz" and classified the work as Gebrauchskunst* Even if Opitz iA version of this article was read at the annual convention of the Modern Language Association of America, December 1966. For the generous support of my work I am indebted to the Committee on Research in the Humanities of Princeton University. 2 Alfred Huebner, Das erste deutsche Schaferidyll und seine Quellen (Konigsberg, 1910); Heinrich Meyer, Der deutsche Schaferroman des 17. Jahrhunderts (Dorpat, 1928); Ursula Schaumann, Zur Geschichte der erzahlenden Schaferdichtung in Deutschland (Hannover, 1930); Ernst Gunter Carnap, Das Schaferwesen in der deutschen Literatur des 17. Jahrhunderts und die Hirtendichtung Europas (Wiirzburg, 1939). 3 4 Carnap, pp. 19 and 21. Schaumann, p. 9.

Opitz' Schafferey von der Nimfen Hercinie

35

had conceived the glorification of the Schaffgotsch family as the nucleus of the work (as is indeed probable), two objections may be raised: firstly, that panegyric poetry was in no way "eine auEerdichterische Aufgabe" for a seventeenth-century poet, and secondly, that three-quarters of the text are not Gebrauchskunst; indeed, the panegyric could be deleted without destroying the fundamental character of the work. The morning walk of the three poets and their extensive discussions would remain intact; so would, to a large degree, the visit of the poets to the realm of the nymphs where Opitz unfolds a wealth of mythological and scientific information. Finally, the dual purpose of the Schâferei—thaï of delight and instruction—of which Opitz speaks in the preface would also be preserved.5 At this point one may justly ask: What qualities made the Schafferey von der Nimfen Hercinie so widely read, admired, and imitated? For it must be assumed that the cultivated reader was already familiar with the conventional form of the walk and the visit to the realm of the nymphs from Sannazaro's Arcadia; he knew narrative prose interspersed with poetry from Boccacio's Aminta and many later works: he was familiar with the dialogue as a vehicle for ethical, philosophical, and scientific ideas from the works of Plato, Castiglione, Erasmus, and many others. Apparently the main basis for the popularity of Opitz' Hercinie was the locale and the themes of the dialogues. Unlike Vergil, Sannazaro, and Sidney, Opitz laid the scene of his Hercinie not in some remote Arcadia, not in a land of paradisical peace, but in a part of the Silesian Riesengebirge. From here the events of the Thirty Years' War seemed an immediate threat, and the poet's lament over the devastations in many parts of Germany expressed a sorrow universally felt. With his flair for what was current and successful Opitz chose, for a basis of his discussions, topics of particular interest to his reading public. Thus he incorporated in his Schaferei discussions of the most disparate problems, ranging from the neoplatonic definition of love (and the relation of love to beauty and reason) to questions of mythology and history; from a theory of the origin and nature of mineral waters to geological and geographical problems as well as to speculations about witches and ghosts. In short, the Schafferey von der 5

Delight was obviously meant to arise from the "invention" and its graceful presentation; instruction, from the abundance of classical, neoclassical, and scientific material.

36 Ulrich Maché Nimfen Hercinie became a vehicle of philosophic, moral, and scientific ideas, a medium through which the propensity of the age for polymathy asserted itself in poetic form. The imitations of Hercinie® do not, for the most part, share Opitz' tendency toward a display of encyclopaedic learning. Almost invariably copied, however, was the sojourn in nature which served as a background for the dialogues; also appropriated was the "unexpected event" (unerwartete Begebenheit)7 and, above all, the narrative interspersed with poems, a new literary form in German literature to which the Schafereien owe much of their poetic charm. It must be noted that this seemingly loose alternation of prose and verse frequently is a deliberate artistic device. As early as the Schafferey von der Nimfen Hercinie this is quite evident. As a rule, the poet first discusses a problem in prose, in the form of a monologue or a dialogue; then he presents a poem in which he attempts to summarize the essence of the ideas discussed, so that the poem usually constitutes a conceptual or poetic climax. At the same time the poet may introduce in the last lines of a poem, quite unobtrusively, the idea he intends to discuss next, thus fashioning an almost seamless connection with the theme to follow. By means of this technique the fusion of "philology" and poetry which Justus Lipsius had regarded as his most outstanding literary achievement,8 is, for the first time in German literature, realized in the Schafferey von der Nimfen Hercinie. Heinrich Meyer, in his very thorough work on the pastoral novel, was the first to examine the imitations of Hercinie.9 However, Meyer 6 Space does not permit me to consider here the body of political Schafereien of the type cultivated by Michael Kongehl nor the religious Schafereien of Birken, Joachim Heinrich Hagen, and others. Nor was it possible to deal with the interplay of fiction and reality in the Schafereien, a problem which has taken on a new dimension through the studies of Blake Lee Spahr, "Protean Stability in the Baroque Novel," Germanic Review, 40 (1965), 253-60. See also the chapter on pastoral poetry in Spahr, Anton Ulrich and Aramena: Genesis and Development of a Baroque Novel (Berkeley, 1966). ?In the first printing of Harsdôrffer's and Klafs Pegnesisches Schafergedicht (Nurnberg, 1644), p. 23, "unverwartete begebenheit"; in Birken's revised edition, Pegnesis: oder der Pegnitz Blumgenofi-Schafere FeldGedichte in Neun Tagzeiten (Nurnberg, 1673), p. 27, "unerwartete Begebenheit." 8 J. L. Saunders, Justus Lipsius: The Philosophy of the Renaissance (New York, 1955), p. 4. 9 Objections may be raised against Meyer for using the term Schaferroman to describe not only the pastoral novel, but also Opitz' Hercinie and the genre

Opitz' Schafferey von der Nimfen Hercinie 37 did not attempt to show any line of development within the genre; nor did Ernst Gunther Carnap, in his study of the Schaferwesen cited above, make any step in that direction. Indeed, Carnap, obviously irritated by the conventional discussion of virtue, beauty, and love in so many Schafereien, simply described them as an "Abklatsch" of Hercinie (p. 21). Such a judgment, however, fails to account for the distinct structural development which even a cursory examination of the Schafereien reveals. The most obvious distinguishing feature of the imitations, as compared with Opitz' work, is a conscious effort on the part of the imitators to achieve greater thematic unity. Instead of treating in sequence a variety of themes in the casual fashion of Opitz' Hercinie, the authors deliberately tried to limit the number of topics under discussion and to relate them structurally to the unerwartete Begebenheit. The first author to achieve this thematic unity was Dorothea Eleonore von Rosenthal. In her Poetische Gedancken ( 1641 ) the conversation of the main characters revolves primarily around the value and the task of the poet, thus pointing directly toward the unerwartete Begebenheit, the appearance of the muses who, singing panegyric hymns, pay homage to the foremost representatives of early German Baroque literature: to Opitz, Buchner, and Zesen. The intent toward a unified thematic structure certainly manifests itself most strongly in Birken, the titles of whose works partly reveal this endeavour: "Schonheit-Lob und Adels-Prob," "Kriegs- und Friedens-Gedáchtnis," TEhrenpreis des Lieb-loblichen Weiblichen Geschlechtes." In general, all poets of the derived from it. I see no serious objection against the term Schaferei, which among others, Albrecht Schône has used in his anthology (Das Zeitalter des Barock, Die deutsche Literatur: Texte und Zeugnisse, III [München, 1963], 765). To speak of Ekloge and Prosaekloge (Klaus Garber in his edition of Pegnesisches Schafergedicht 1644-1645 [Tubingen, 1966]) is, however, highly questionable. Ekloge has come to mean a pastoral in verse, as used by Vergil and imitated by Petrarch, Eobanus Hessus, Euricius Cordus, and many others. It does not designate the peculiar mixture of prose and verse that is so typical of the Schaferei. On the other hand, Prosaekloge (apart from the self-contradiction of its two components) could hardly be appropriate to a genre in which rhymed poetry is used so extensively. There is no question that a good number of the poems in the Schafereien are modelled on Vergil's Bucólica and might be called Eklogen; this, however, does not warrant the use of the term Ekloge for Hercinie and its imitations. It might be noted here that Sannazaro's Arcadia shows a rigid division of passages in prose and verse, each passage bearing the title "Prosa" and "Écloga" respectively (edition used: Venice, 1614).

38 Ulrich Maché genre follow Opitz' example in choosing themes relevant to their time, thus making the Scháferei a vehicle of new sociological, political, and literary ideas. Another important development within the genre is the emergence of characters that possess distinct individuality. While in Hercinie and Poetische Gedancken the speakers show very few individual traits, those in Birken's Schafereien frequently reveal distinct personalities; here the manner of speech becomes a conscious artistic effort. Undoubtedly, it is through the introduction of female characters, along with the traditional shepherd-poets, that his "Feldgedichte" most palpably gain in verisimilitude. Thus in Birken's "Sireno" the utterances of the speakers are no longer interchangeable, and the dramatic individuality of the dialogue in "Silvius" and "Ehrenpreis des Liebloblichen Weiblichen Geschlechtes" is quite marked. The growing emphasis on characterization and the introduction of female characters inevitably encouraged the growth of novelistic tendencies in the Schafereien; nevertheless, plot and action in this genre did not attain the structural significance which they possess for the novel and the novella. The present-day reader of the Schafereien might find it perplexing that German seventeenth-century poets, notwithstanding their high artistic aims, all too often chose as their unerwartete Begebenheit personal and political occasions such as a marriage, an appointment to office, or the death of a dignitary or friend. One must not forget, however, that the social function of poetry was still unchallenged at the time and had, since the days of Cicero and Quintillian, been solidly supported by poetic theories. Apart from this, the very fact that Theocritus' idylls for Ptolemy and Vergil's eclogues for Pollio were still read after more than sixteen hundred years seemed to make it a plain certainty that the German Schafereien of the seventeenth century would also live in times to come. The reproaches of sycophancy which have been made against Opitz and his followers are, to a considerable extent, the result of an unwillingness to understand the aesthetic intent of panegyric poetry. It is obvious that Opitz pays homage to his patron when in Hercinie he describes a cavern where the shepherd-poets find the merits of the Schaffgotsch family immortalized in statues and poetic inscriptions.

Opitz' Schàfferey von der Nimfen Hercinie

39

One cannot, however, dismiss such poetic glorification as mere flattery. It must be kept in mind that Opitz' encomium did not merely praise his patron's family but elevated it to a level where it attained exemplary character. When evaluating this tribute to the Schaffgotsch family, one must, furthermore, realize that there was no distinction in value between "pure" poetry and occasional verse. It is certainly no accident that Opitz in his dedication to Hans Ulrich von Schaffgotsch speaks of the educational value of poetry, mentioning, among other types, Glückwüntschungen and Trostgetichte, from which "viel herrliche Exempel / lehren vnnd Vnterweisungen herfiir leuchten. . . ."10 There is no question that Opitz and other poetical theorists of the seventeenth century insisted that occasional verse, like other kinds of poetry, should imitate nature—not so much as it is, but as it could or should be.11 When Opitz therefore attributes to his patron the love of wisdom and of the fine arts, and when he asserts that Hans Ulrich von Schaffgotsch has "die Sorgen abgeschafft Fur seine Leut' vnd Landt," it is only of secondary importance whether or not this prince truly deserved such praise. More significant is the fact that the poet here sets up an exemplary model for the members of the German nobility. At the same time Opitz brings to the mind of his cultivated bourgeois readers the intellectual and moral standards by which they may judge the German nobility and by which, when suitably modified to reflect their own social world, they may judge themselves and their peers. These considerations lead us to the conclusion that those parts of Hercinie and of other Schafereien which plainly belong to occasional poetry were not simply of an encomiastic nature but had, at the same time, a serious moral purpose. The historian of the Schaferei would today be confronted with the task of showing how the genre became increasingly receptive to new literary forms, in particular to the popular Gesprachsspiel and the current emblem literature. He would have to show how the themes of the dialogues, so casually linked in Hercinie, became more and more unified and soon assumed a meaningful relation to the unerwartete Begebenheit. Finally, he would have to trace the gradual growth of MWeltliche Poemata. Der Ander Theil (Frankfurt, 1644), p. 400. Cf. Opitz, Buck von der deutschen Poeterey, éd. R. Alewyn (Tubingen, 1964), p. 11. n

40 Ulrich Maché individual characterization and the increasing emphasis on plot, resulting from the appearance of female characters. The course of development would pass from Fleming through Zesen, Harsdorffer, Klaj, and many others to Birken, in whose hands the Schàferei attained its artistic high point. The decline of the Schafereien has been rightly seen in close connection with the dwindling influence of the Pegnesischer Blumenorden after Birken's death. A further cause for the speedy disappearance of the genre undoubtedly was the growing importance of the German Baroque novel. When between 1670 and 1680 Birken set about re-editing his Schafereien in two imposing omnibus volumes, the novels of Buchholtz, Anton Ulrich von Braunschweig, and Zesen had already taken over part of the function of the Schafereien. In those novels the reader now found the kind of moral and philosophical conversation with which he was familiar; in fact, he found this favourite literary device within a new and more fascinating frame, in the labyrinthine plots of the Baroque novels. To be sure, many of the themes having contemporary appeal were missing; yet they were soon to reappear in a newer and more decorous form, in the essays of the first literary journals. Thus the Schàferei lost its significance as a literary genre. No serious attempts were made to revive it.12 Nevertheless, its contribution to the development of seventeenth-century German literature remains unique. It not only invited literary experiments both in prose and verse, but provided at the same time a medium in which the changing poetic, philosophical, and social ideas of the time could find adequate artistic expression. 12 The pastoral poetry that once more became a European fashion under the influence of Getëner's Idyllen shares with the Schàferei of the Baroque only the Greek and Roman literary heritage.

Poetic Imagination and External Reality in Tieck From Divergence to Convergence RAIMUND BELGARDT

A reader who expects to find in Schlegel's essay, "Allgemeine Übersicht des gegenwártigen Zustandes der deutschen Literatur/'1 a discussion of the literature of the age will be sorely disappointed. Nevertheless, the essay is a rich source for the historian of ideas who wants to study the ideological reorientation that transpired between Enlightenment and Romanticism. The Enlightenment, Schlegel charges, has made all ideas ever expressed by man in philosophy, poetry, religion, and ethics serve a rational and utilitarian purpose. For the Aufklàrer, neither life nor the universe hold any "mysteries"; rational explanations are at hand for everything: "Ein beschrânkter endlicher Zweck là Et sich ganz durchschauen, und so soil ihnen auch das menschliche Dasein und die Welt rein wie ein Rechenexempel auf gehen" (p. 68). Poetry is said to have suffered most from this process of rationalization. "Das wahrhaft Poetische" has been destroyed (p. 47). For, as Schlegel asserts: "Eben auf dem Dunkel, worein sich die Wurzel unseres Daseins verliert, auf dem unauflôslichen Geheimnis beruht der Zauber des Lebens, dies ist die Seele aller Poésie" (pp. 69-70). And the universe is believed to have been created "aus dem urspriinglichen Chaos . . . durch Liebe und Hal?, durch Sympathie und Antipathie" (p. 69). This process of creation, which is seen as being paralleled and renewed in the life of every individual, cannot, Schlegel asserts, be explained rationally. It can be fathomed only by Phantasie, Edition used for quotations from this essay: A. W. Schlegel, Vorlesungen über schône Literatur und Kunst, II (Heilbronn, 1884 [= Deutsche Litteraturdenkmale des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts, XVIII]). Spelling is modernized throughout.

42 Raimund Belgardt the poetic imagination. Phantasie, completely misunderstood by the rationalists, is also creative. It is, according to Schlegel, not only that power of the imagination which creates the whole world for us but also that power by means of which man can become a creator himself: a creator of works of art ( p. 84 ). Phantasie is one of the higher talents ("hôheren Anlagen") of man. Another is his capacity for Ideen. Ideen, as defined by Schlegel, are "schrankenlose Gedanken . . . etwas, worauf der menschliche Geist mit einem unendlichen Streben gerichtet ist" (p. 50). Being infinite powers of the imagination, the Ideen cannot be made, as the rationalists believed, to serve finite goals and utilitarian needs. The task of liberating both Phantasie and the Ideen from their utilitarian fetters fell to poetry. Poetry, together with philosophy, religion, and ethics, was regarded as "die Heimat und der Urquell aller Ideen" (p. 49). Being an act of creative Phantasie poetry was of course easier to reshape according to the new programme than were philosophy, religion, or ethics. Romantic poetry, then, became the medium for a programme of ideological reorientation which comprised the restoration of Phantasie and the Ideen to their proper and rightful place on the scale of human values. This battle for the restoration of the "higher talents of man" led, to be sure, to a cultivation of a high idealism and an inner life that at times seems to us totally unrelated to the world of reality. This fact has, of course, been the source for much criticism of Romantic works of art. But to understand the Romantics' artistic creations means foremost to understand their true concern for man's metaphysical being. Their conception of what is "real" certainly differed from what is today regarded as reality. "Das wahrhaft Réelle," Schlegel asserts, is the Ideen (p. 50). In other words, what seemed essential to the Romantics in their age was the free development of the spiritual aspirations of man, the unrestrained development of ideas. Any factors that would impede or arrest this free development came to be regarded in a negative light. Common reality, or what is generally termed reality, was seen in this negative light because it was considered as placing restrictions on the free development of ideals by insisting on their purely practical application. This, Schlegel would consider a perversion of the higher talents of man. Despite their misuse, however, Schlegel expresses the conviction that they will never perish: "Nur schlummern

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kônnen die hôheren Anlagen des Menschen, herabgezogen werden durch das Gewicht des Irdischen und Materiellen, umbaut und in ihrer Wirksamkeit gehemmt durch die Verfassung der Gesellschaft. . ." (p. 85). This dualism between the higher talents of man and his external reality that is perceived and theoretically formulated in this quotation, is also apparent in Romantic works of art. It determines their dualistic structure. The following investigation will try to analyse this dualistic structure in three of Tieck's shorter works. A restrictive social order, an interest limited to only mundane and material things, of which Schlegel speaks in the quotation above, are also the dominant traits of what Tieck will call the "Kreis der wiederkehrenden Gewohnlichkeit" (p. 214),2 by which he means the routine business of everyday life. It may be called a common or lower reality." The romantic hero in search of "das wahrhaft Réelle" will turn away from the restrictive forces of the lower reality and strive for what may be termed a "higher reality." In this domain the search for higher values is usually fulfilled. Unless the lower reality can be transformed, be permeated with the spirit of poetry, as it were, the two realities are portrayed as being in opposition to each other. The search for higher values, the spiritual aspirations of man clash with his "earthly and material" interests. A close examination of three chronologically ordered selections of Tieck's works will more fully define the higher and the lower reality as two distinct domains: a reality of poetic imagination and an external reality. Whereas all human beings experience external reality, that is, the daily minutiae of practical existence in the lower reality, the higher reality is not perceived by all, but only by those who possess certain spiritual and mental qualities which make them aspire to values higher and more ideal than those to be found in everyday life. It will be shown that the higher reality is associated with fantasy which is the poetic element instrumental in creating an "ideal" realm of poetic imagination, of poetic inspiration and fertility, a realm of seclusion, beauty, and splendour. In the first two stories to be analysed, Der blonde Eckbert (1796) and Der Runenberg (1802), the higher reality reigns supreme. Tieck seems exclusively concerned with the exploration of the higher realm, 2

References to Tieck's work are to the text of Der blonde Eckbert and Der Runenberg as found in Ludwig Tieck's Schriften, IV (Berlin, 1828).

44 Raimund Belgardt / • f the exploration of the innermost recesses of the human mind and soul. The lower reality is presented only in its negative aspects: it intrudes upon the higher realm and arrests the nobler aspirations of the protagonists. To study the symbols and motifs which Tieck uses to express artistically the exploration of the higher realm and the dualism between the two realms is indeed a fascinating subject. Since Tieck does not present a solution to the dualism as presented in these two stories, both end on a tragic note of despair. Divergence of the two realms will be shown to be the central theme of the first two stories. Although at the end of Der Runenberg a hope is expressed for the convergence of the two realms, final convergence is achieved only in Des Lebens Uberflufi (1839), written thirty-seven years later. The deciding factor that allows for the reconciliation of the two realms seems to be the positive portrayal of the lower reality. This portrayal, however, unmistakably shows characteristic features of the Biedermeier period. Although Tieck lived long enough to help usher in the literary trends known as Biedermeier and Poetic Realism, which indeed achieved great moments of harmony between the two realms of what may be termed subjective and objective reality, the dualism between poetic imagination and external reality only deepened with the progression from early to later Romanticism. This progressive deyelopment will be illustrated with a brief interpretation of Hoffmann's Der Sandmann (1816). In this story, the protagonist also clashes with a prosaic environment. More specifically, Nathanael is a poet who is left in utter isolation by the prosaic-minded antagonists and, being without an audience, is doomed to suffocate from his poetic experiences and visions. Thus, Hoffmann presents the more specific dualism of artist versus society; a theme which will be presented again and again in terms of the Geist-Leben and Kunstler-Gesellschaft polarities in the literature of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. While Tieck's main characters are not necessarily artists, they do have artistic traits and are definitely endowed with a poetic imagination. This fact compounds the predicament of the protagonists, who live in a utilitarian, prosaic environment. In Der blonde Eckbert, it is Bertha who is in trouble because of her poetkf imagination. Recalling her childhood experiences, she comments: ". . . die wunderbarsten Phan-, tasien beschaftigten mich, und wenn ich nun aufstehen mufite, um

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irgendetwas zu helfen, oder zu tragen, so zeigte ich mich noch viel ungeschickter, well mir der Kopf von alien den seltsamen Vorstellungen schwindelte." Because of her awkwardness, Bertha is cruelly punished by her father and incessantly chided for being such a "silly stupid child incapable of doing the simplest thing properly/' Worst of all, she is "useless": "eine so ganz unniitze Last des Hausweseris . . . ein unntitzes Geschopf" (pp. 146-47), When the situation in her parents' home finally becomes unbearable, Bertha flees. Her flight takes her across a barren rocky area marked by the absence of any human dwellings. It is a dangerous route of terrors and nightmarish emotions and can be understood symbolically to signify Bertha's passing from the restrictive domain of everyday existence to the realm of poetic imagination. The contrast between the two realms is heavily underscored by using eschatological terms: "Mir war, als wenn ich aus der Holle in ein Paradies getreten ware . . ." (p. 150). "Paradise," the higher realm, is presided over by an old wrinkled woman who is accompanied by a friendly, cheerful dog. In her hut, she has a splendidly colourful, singing bird which represents the wealth, beauty, and brilliance of the poetic realm. By virtue of her poetic imagination, Bertha has an inner affinity with this realm. She adapts quickly to the unusual surroundings; soon she feels "als miifite alles so sein"; and the dog and the bird "machten denselben Eindruck auf mich, den sonst nur langst gekannte Freunde hervorbringen" (p. 154). In this realm, Bertha is no longer clumsy or awkward. The things she had been unable to do in the confining reality of her parental home, she now learns to do quickly and easily. Most significant of these is the art of spinning. Learning to, spin is symbolic of the free development of her poetic imagination.^ Ideas and feelings, formerly suppressed, now emerge and seem to form an active part of her consciousness. Only in this wprld of poetic reality does she come, for the first time, to a full realization of the world around her (p. 151). For six years, from the age of eight to fourteen, Bertha lives happily in this secluded realm of poetic fantasy. However, in the process of growing up there comes a time when the- spiritual innocence of youth is lost: ". . . es ist ein Ungliick fur den Menschen, dafi er seinen Verstand nur darum bekommt, um die Unschuld seiner Seele zu verlieren" (p. 157). She comes to realize that she can make use of the

46 Raimund Belgardt products of the higher realm, namely the pearls and precious stones laid daily by the bird. She envisions material wealth and erotic fulfilment in the lower reality of which she had read in books. The decision, which world to choose, is however not taken easily: "Es war mir enge und bedrángt zu Sinne, ich wimschte wieder da zu bleiben, und doch war mir der Gedanke widerwârtig: es war ein seltsamer Kampf in meiner Seele, wie ein Streiten von zwei widerspenstigen Geistern in mir" (p. 158). Nevertheless, she leaves this poetic realm taking along the bird and the precious jewels, not heeding the old woman's warning that perseverance would be rewarded but that any deviation from the "right path" would be punished eventually (p. 156). In the lower world, Bertha intends to use the wealth she has taken from the higher realm in the form of the precious jewels, to improve the conditions of the lower world. But her attempt to relieve her parents from poverty is thwarted with the discovery of the death of her parents. Having settled in a neighbouring town, Bertha soon regrets her decision, and the first sign of punishment appears in the form of fear: she is afraid of the maid and afraid of the bird. When the bird sings again after a long silence, the theme of his song is Reue rather than the Freude of which he had sung formerly. To stifle her anxieties and feelings of remorse, Bertha, in a fit of terror, strangles the bird. Shortly thereafter she marries the young knight Eckbert. A twofold purpose becomes apparent in this Mârchenerzâhlung. One is to show that a union of the two domains is unachievable, and the other is to demonstrate that the use of the products of the higher realm in the lower reality is a wrong punishable by unbearable consequences. These two points are interrelated in so far as the wrongful use of the higher realm is the result of the intrusion of the desires and needs of the lower reality, which is governed by economic principles. Before this problem of the misuse of the poetic domain is discussed more fully, we might recall that this is a problem which also confronted Tieck as an artist.3 His early exploitative tendencies in the arts are 3

A most successful interpretation of Der blonde Eckbert "as a poetic confession" has been advanced by Raymond Immerwahr (German Quarterly, 34 [1961], 103-17). Inmerwahr views the Marchen as the representation of a split personality; Bertha and Eckbert, the escapist and the social self respectively, are the component parts of this personality and reflect Tieck's own emotional instability. According to Immerwahr, the Marchen derives its very authenticity from the fact that it is "an expression of the anxieties, the guilt, the demonic irrational

Poetic Imagination and External Reality in Tieck 47 well known. In Rambach's Romanfabrik Tieck had to prostitute his poetic talent by helping to supply an insatiable audience with large quantities of whatever pleased them. This activity, as Staiger points out, caused him to lose his "literarische Unschuld, bevor ihm ein gewichtiges eigenes Werk gelungen war,"4 and even before he had had any significant experiences in life. It is quite conceivable that this early literary activity later resulted in feelings of remorse and guilt when Tieck, under the pressure from publishers and of economic necessity, had to convert that which had been conceived in the realm of free poetic imagination into a saleable product. For instance, Kôpke records Tieck's regret over having yielded too easily to Nicolai's pressure. In order to satisfy his publisher's demand for more material, Tieck had announced on the spur of the moment that he was working on a manuscript called Der blonde Eckbert. "Es war ein Name, der ihm in den Mund gekommen war. Spâter fiel ihm die Leichtfertigkeit auf die Seele, mit welcher er eine Dichtung angekündigt hatte, fur die er bis jetzt weder Fabel noch Idee habe."5 Thus, the problem of the misuse of the poetic imagination has a pointed application also to the genesis of Eckbert. In the story itself, both Bertha and Eckbert are guilty of misusing the products of the realm of poetic imagination. Bertha sells some of the jewels and kills the bird. Eckbert shares in the wrongdoings for he admits that only through his marriage to Bertha did he achieve prosperity (p. 162). The day of reckoning, however, is not far off. The punishment for the deviation from the "right path," as foretold by the old woman, is swift and cruel and comes in several forms. Being greedy themselves, Bertha and Eckbert expect everyone else to be covetous of their wealth. Thus, instead of being able to enjoy their illicitly gained wealth, they live in constant fear and mistrust. After Walther has been told Bertha's story, Eckbert's fear grows and impels him to murder Walther. Bertha, too, experiences intense anxiety because Walther has, by some inexplicable means, knowledge of the name of experiences of a troubled author" (105). And its "center of gravity" is seen "to lie in the guilt inherent in the material and social exploitation of a creative imagination nourished by solitary withdrawal . . ." (117). I gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to Immerwahr's interpretation. 4 Emil Staiger, "Ludwig Tieck und der Ursprung der deutschen Romantik," Die neue Rundschau, 71 (1960), 559. ^Rudolf Kôpke, Ludwig Tieck, II, (Leipzig, 1855), p. 210.

48 Raimund Belgardt the dog which Bertha had left behind in the old woman's hut. This anxiety causes her death. And Eckbert, always having felt an irrepressible urge for social contact, cannot endure the loneliness after his wife's death. For a while he finds a friend in Hugo—only to be doubly horrified when Hugo's face suddenly assumes the features of Walther's. To relieve his utter despair, Eckbert sets out on a journey and gets lost in a maze of rocks. A peasant, whom Eckbert asks to show him a way out, also assumes the appearance of Walther. And instead of having been shown the way out of the maze, Eckbert has been directed to the hut of the old woman. He is greeted by her with the words: "Bringst du mir meinen Vogel? Meine Ferien? Meinen Hund? . . . Siehe, das Unrecht bestraft sich selbst: Niemand als ich war dein Freund Walther, dein Hugo." (p. 169) And after the further revelation that his wife Bertha was actually his half-sister, Eckbert becomes insane and dies. It is apparent then that Walther, Hugo, and the peasant are emissaries of the old woman. She herself, it would seem, assuming these different disguises, represents the spirit of revenge directed toward Eckbert and Bertha for their materialistic use of the wealth of the higher domain. The punishment is fatal for both. The total divergence of the higher and the lower reality is thus illustrated. This divergence is also symbolically represented by the unholy union of Bertha and Eckbert. Bertha, of course, who has lived in the higher realm of poetic imagination, is the exponent of this realm. Eckbert's own description places her there: ". . . ihre Jugend, ihre Schonheit, und welch einen unbeschreiblichen Reiz ihr ihre einsame Erziehung gegeben hatte. Sie kam mir vor wie ein Wunder . . . " (p. 162) Eckbert, on the other hand, appears as the representative of the lower realm of everyday activity. His driving need for social intercourse is a characteristic which clearly places him in this realm rather than in the higher realm of which seclusion is a characteristic feature. When, at the end of the story, Eckbert enters the realm of higher reality, just as Bertha did as a child, he appears totally unreceptive to the magic of this realm; he experiences none of the emotions that Bertha had felt. Although, to be sure, the marriage of Eckbert and Bertha, the exponents of different realities, represents an attempt at unifying the higher and lower reality, this marriage proves completely unsuitable. Its unsuitability is revealed by the fact that their desire to have children has remained unfulfilled, and by Eckbert's

Poetic Imagination and External Reality in Tieck 49 startling discovery that he had been married to his half-sister. This incestuous relationship seems a very suitable representation of the wrongful enjoyment of the wealth of the higher domain, of the gifts of poetic imagination. It also illustrates effectively Tieck's own inability to reconcile, at this point, in any legitimate way, the relationship between the higher world of poetic imagination and the lower world of practical everyday existence. The opposition of two contrasting realms is also the theme of Der Runenberg, written six years after Eckbert. The protagonist is again drawn away from routine existence—the monotony of school, the banality of family life—to seek a less restricting realm. The "Ebene," the flat land or the lowland, symbolizes the lower reality which is a domain of rational relationships.6 In this domain people live "in deplorable ignorance," and Christian comes to hate this flat land, "der kleine beschránkte Garten meines Vaters mit den geordneten Blumenbeeten, die enge Wohnung . . . " (p. 219). The adjectives beschrankt, geordnet, eng indicate the restricting order of the material, practical world. This world Christian deserts in favour of the mountains for which he feels a mysterious attraction. In the mountains an awakening and transformation of Christian's inner nature takes place. It is essentially a becoming aware of new dimensions within himself. It is brought about by irrational forces symbolized in a kind of Venus figure of supernatural beauty, who unveils herself before his eyes, and in a "magic tablet" which she holds in her hand. The tablet is inlaid with a great variety of precious stones, which are arranged to form a "wunderliche, unverstândliche Figur." While looking at these poetic images of a higher realm, Christian discovers, for the first time, his true self: In seinem Innern hatte sich ein Abgrund von Gestalten und Wohllaut, von Sehnsucht und Wollust aufgetan, Scharen von beflugelten Tônen und wehmiitigen und freudigen Melodien zogen durch sein Gemüt, das bis auf den Grund bewegt war: er sah eine Welt von Schmerz und Hoffnung in sich aufgehen, máchtige Wunderfelsen von Vertrauen und trotzender Zuversicht, grog e Wasserstrôme, wie voll Wehmut fliefiend. Er kannte sich nicht wieder [p. 224] 6

Cf. Marianne Thalmann's interpretation of the "Tieck-Màrchen," Dos Marchen und die Moderne, Urban-Bücher 53 (Stuttgart, 1961), p. 46: "Die Ebene ist der Raum fur das Auge, das rationale Beziehungen zwischen den Gegenstanden verlangt."

50 Raimund Belgardt Immediately after this experience the tablet, given to him by the lovely woman, merges into Christian: "Er faÊte die Tafel und fühlte die Figur, die unsichtbar sogleich in sein Inneres uberging . . ." (p. 224). It seems that the "wunderliche, unverstàndliche Figur" is symbolic of the wealth of feeling of which Christian had hitherto been unaware and that after his experience of the new dimensions within himself the Figur would no longer be meaningless to him. Having the Figur within him, Christian will from now on be unable to forget the experience of his true self. The opposing forces and the juxtaposition of the heights and depths of human emotions, as described in the quotation above, depict the higher reality in this story. It is a realm of boundless dimensions, where imagination and feeling can take endless flights in the infinity of the human mind and soul. There are within Der Runenberg a number of parallels with the Eckbert-Mârchen. Just as in Eckbert, the protagonist confronts a representative of the higher realm, who seems to awaken the higher aspirations of the hero and to lead him to self-recognition. In both stories this representative appears in disguise and sends emissaries. The lovely Venus figure appears as the Waldweib, an odious old hag, and the two strangers who appear in Der Runenberg, either direct Christian to the wonders of the Runenberg or remind him of the higher world which he has temporarily forgotten. Like Bertha, Christian has an inner affinity to the higher realm. Both feel immediately at home in their new surroundings. The route into the higher realm Christian has to take is again described as a dangerous one. He must walk along a narrow path that leads past steep cliffs and yawning chasms. As on Bertha's route, there is no sign of vegetation or human habitation. The portrayal of this route indicates again the danger and fear that accompany the transition from the lower to the higher world, and, on the symbolic level, the danger inherent in discovering the boundless higher realm of imagination and emotion. The connotation that the higher domain cannot be perceived by everyone is also present in the words of the first emissary in Der Runenberg: ". . . wer nur zu suchen versteht, wessen Herz recht innerlich hingezogen wird, der findet uralte Freunde dort und Herrlichkeiten, allés, was er am eifrigsten wünscht" (p. 221). After a long struggle with himself, Christian decides to forget what he has experienced on the Runenberg. He descends to the flat land

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where he marries, has children, becomes a gardener, and later settles into the life of a farmer. Such a life, as we already know, is unsuitable for a romantic character. Christian seems to be aware of this when he says to his father: ". . . ich kann auf lange Zeit, auf Jahre die wahre Gestalt meines Innern vergessen, und gleichsam ein fremdes Leben mit Leichtigkeit fiihren: dann geht aber plotzlich wie ein neuer Mond das regierende Gestirn, welches ich selber bin, in meinem Herzen auf und besiegt die fremde Macht" (p. 236). Christian does ignore his true self while living in the lower reality, but the words just quoted also make it clear that Christian considers his true identity to be that of the higher reality, the domain of boundless imagination and feeling. It is a "fremdes Leben," a "fremde Macht" that he experiences in the lower reality. He recognizes the supremacy of what may be termed again the realm of poetic imagination, to which he finally surrenders himself. One occurrence after another works upon the awakened portion of Christian's inner self to bring about the final surrender. On the evening of his marriage the vision of the beautiful Venus figure intrudes upon his existence in the lower realm, when he says to his bride, Elisabeth: "Nicht jenes Bild bist du, welches mich einst im Traume entzuckte und das ich niemals ganz vergessen kann . .." (p. 229). In the course of time Christian is reminded of the higher reality by the visit of a stranger, who again seems familiar to Christian. The stranger leaves a sum of gold with Christian for safe keeping, or in the case of the stranger's failure to return, for Christian's own use. The gold seems to perform two symbolic functions within the framework of the story. On the one hand it represents the riches, wealth, and splendour of the higher world, that is, a symbolic expression of Christian's true self. But on the other hand it functions simply as money with useful economical applications in the lower world of materialistic values. Christian comes under the influence of both these functions. When he says that this sum could make them happy if the stranger failed to return (p. 233), he is thinking of the practical applications of the gold. But it also has a mysterious spell on him; it seems to call to him, look at him, and whisper words of love into his ears: . . . seht, wie es mich jetzt wieder anblickt, dafi mir der rote Glanz tief in mein Herz hineingeht! . . . wie es mir zublinzelt, und mir heimlich ein Liebeswort ins Ohr sagen will: so mufi ich mich wohl nâchtlicher Weise aufmachen, um nur seinem Liebesdrang genug zu tun, und dann fiihle ich

52 Raimund Belgardt es innerlich jauchzen und frohlocken, wenn ich es mit meinen Fingern beriihre, es wird vor Freuden immer roter und herrlicher; schaut nur selbst die Glut der Entzückung an. [p. 234] Christian's father interprets these words as a confession of intense greed and love of money, but the phrases "tief in mein Herz hineingeht" and "innerlich jauchzen und frohlocken" bring to mind the concept of the true self ("die wahre Gestalt [des] Innern") as discovered on the Runenberg. The "Liebesdrang" and "Liebeswort" have associations with the beautiful woman and awaken images of the higher world. Thus, Christian is torn between two phases of existence; he is tortured and troubled by their opposition. When the gold does eventually become his own, he invests it in land and livestock, but later when Christian disappears and Elisabeth remarries, the things acquired with this gold go to waste. The purpose of the gold seems to be to bring Christian back into the higher world by awakening in him a yearning and a desire strong enough to impel him to sacrifice all his material possessions and go in search of his higher being. The turning point is reached when Christian exclaims: "Wie habe ich mein Leben in einem Traume verloren! . . . so habe ich mutwillig ein hohes ewiges Cluck aus der Acht gelassen, um ein vergángliches und zeitliches zu gewinnen." (p. 238) Having thus fulfilled its purpose, the power of the gold diminishes. The use of the wealth of the higher world to bring about personal gain in the lower world is, as in Eckbert, a deviation from the "right path" and can only result in destruction and decay. The gold symbol has its counterpart in the "Alrunenwurzel" (sic), which once betrayed to Christian the transcience of the lower world. All forms of plant life are merely "der Leichnam vormaliger herrlicher Steinwelten. . . . [sie] wollen jene geliebte Figur in meinem Herzen auslôschen, und in jedem Fruhling mit ihrer verzerrten Leichenmiene meine Seele gewinnen." (p. 237) Thus, Pflanzenwelt and Steinwelt vie with each other for the possession of Christian's soul. While the Steinwelt represents and promises "a higher and eternal bliss," the Pflanzenwelt can offer only "a transitory and temporal happiness." The incompatibility of the two worlds is emphasized by the waste which occurs when the gold, the product of the Steinwelt, is invested in the lands of the Pflanzenwelt. The separation of the two worlds is emphasized by the relatively systematic organization of symbols. The Ruñen-

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berg itself, the mountains, and the mineshafts (a metaphorical representation of the depths of feeling and the innermost portions of the mind and soul), the Venus-figure and the two strangers, the Steinwelt, the gold, the Tafel with its precious stones, rubies, diamonds, and jewels—all represent or have a symbolic association with the higher realm.7 On the other hand, the flat land and the village, the father and Elisabeth, who ages and loses her beauty, the Pflanzenwelt and the mandrake root, are all components of the transient lower world. In contrast to Eckbert, Christian undeniably accepts the higher reality. Although a certain amount of misuse occurs, it is not nearly as great as in Eckbert. The wealth of the higher world is given to Christian, not stolen by him, and as such, it is his rightful possession. In accordance with the two worlds presented, there are two points of view within the Marchen. From the point of view of the lower reality Christian's fate is interpreted as insanity. The father is convinced that madness has driven his son into the mine and that he has there perished (p. 241). From the point of view of the higher reality Christian achieves the triumph of his life when he rediscovers the lost tablet, the symbol of the higher reality, that is, the inner world of boundless imagination and feeling. From this point of view the descent into the mine shaft symbolizes Christian's return to the higher reality which can be found either in the heights of the mountain or in the inner part of the earth, but never on the flat land. When Christian appears again after a few years for a brief meeting with Elisabeth, he wears a wreath of leaves in his hair (p. 242). His having been crowned seems to indicate that Christian has ascended to a level higher than that of the lower reality. Indeed, he is able to detect a higher meaning in things, to see their ideal side, as it were. In the hideous Waldweib he is able to perceive the beautiful woman of the Runenberg, in the pebbles and the stones that he shows Elisabeth he sees sparkling jewels. In his comments about the pebble-jewels a vague hope for a new Golden Age is expressed. Man will be able to comprehend the higher meaning of things, while these in return 7 For a discussion of these symbols in the larger context of "Begriff und Symbolik der 'Urgeschichte' in der romantischen Dichtung" see Wilhelm Emrich, Protest und Verheifiung (Frankfurt, Bonn, 1960), pp. 25-47. The Waldweib is identified as one of those romantic "allegorisch-mythologischen Personifikationen der Poésie." (p. 36).

54 Raimund Belgardt will reveal their ideal side which, as yet, is buried inside. Symbolic of this hope is the spark that is emitted when Christian strikes two stones against each other: "Habt ihr den Glanz gesehen? . . . so sind sie ganz Feuer und Licht, sie erhellen das Dunkel mit ihrem Lachen, aber noch tun sie es nicht freiwillig." (p. 243) Thus the conviction is expressed that someday the pebbles will reveal their fire and light willingly, that someday pebbles will be jewels to all men. In other words, the divergence of the higher and lower realities will be overcome; the "higher talents of man" will be established, and, as the fire and light symbolism indicates, the Enlightenment, whimsically called the dark age by the Romantics, will be succeeded by a truly enlightened age. But the final impression that the story conveys is not that of a "triumphierende Lôsung,"8 although Christian appears with a crown on his head and shows no desire to return to the lower realm. The final impression is rather one of despair over the mutual exclusion of the higher and the lower realities. Christian parts from Elisabeth with the words: "Sei ruhig . . . ich bin dir so gut wie gestorben . . ." (p. 244). Elisabeth is left alone in her misery. With Christian's withdrawal, the ideal element is removed from the lower reality; without it, external everyday reality can no longer sustain itself and decays. A successful convergence of the two domains is presented by Tieck in a story written much later in his life, at the age of sixty-six. In the period after 1820, Kopke reports, . . . waren seine Kràfte in ein mehr harmonisches Gleichgewicht getreten. Die Idee der Ironie aïs der hôchsten und klarsten Be'herrschung des StofiFes war ihm aufgegangen. Ein freier und leidenschaftsloser Überblick des Lebens und ein reineres kunstlerisches Gestalten war damit verbunden. Es lag darin der Gedanke, sich sittlich über den Erscheinungen zu halten, sich nicht von ihnen unterwerfen oder fortreifien zu lassen.9 Serenity, a mildly ironical detachment, a recognition of the need for moderation are indeed some of the factors that enable Tieck to arrive in Des Lebens Uberflufi at a reconciliation of the two realms. Their opposition, to be sure, is not negated or rationalized away. "Niemals," says Heinrich, "will das Ideal unserer Anschauung mit der triiben Wirklichkeit ganz aufgehen. Die gemeine Ansicht, das Irdische will 8

Thalmann, p. 58. «Rudolf Kôpke, Ludwg Tieck, II (Leipzig, 1855), p. 11.

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immerdar das Geistige unterjochen und beherrschen." (p. 56)10 Thus, as in the earlier works, the delineation of a higher domain and a lower reality is still discernible. It is significant, however, that their divergent tendencies are depicted only in Heinrich's dream. Here, as von Wiese points out, the "individuelle, poetische Existenz" is under the threat of being destroyed by the social order "in ihrer rationalisierenden, ôkonomisch zweckhaften Wirklichkeit."11 This is the problem so clearly presented in Eckbert and Der Runenberg, in which the materialistic and economic forces of the lower world threaten the existence of the higher world. In Des Lebens Überflufi, however, the ties between the two worlds are never completely severed. The higher reality has its basis in a realistic setting. Nevertheless, this higher reality still bears some resemblance to the realm of poetic imagination depicted in the two earlier stories. Seclusion is again the primary characteristic. Heinrich and Klara are completely cut off from social contacts. From their second-floor dwelling they can see only roofs and walls. In their fantasy, however, they imagine, "da 6 jene triibseligen Feuermauern Felsen seien einer wunderbaren Klippengegend der Schweiz" (pp. 33-34). The imagery of the rocky cliffs and yawning abysses described in the other two stories is echoed in this description. The seclusion is also called a "paradise" where Heinrich and Klara create an aura of contentment and happiness living in an ideal world of beauty, poetry, and love. In the lower world such contentment would be impossible. Their lives would be "gestôrt, ewig getrennt, einsam und zerstreut" in the endless rounds of social activities; they would be reduced to a much lower form of existence: "Welch Blicken, Sprechen, Handgeben, Denken dort! Man konnte Tiere oder selbst Marionetten so abrichten und eindrechseln, daÊ sie eben die Komplimente machten und solche Redensarten von sich gáben." (p. 7) What the lower reality obviously needs is some of the Überflufi which Klara and Heinrich enjoy in their seclusion. Beauty, love, and poetry can overcome the inanity and vacuity of the lower world. However, just as the lower reality is in need of the spiritual qualities 10

Page numbers in parentheses refer to the text of Des Lebens Uberfluft as found in Ludwig Tieck's Schriften, XXVI (Berlin, 1854). n Benno von Wiese, Die deutsche Novelle von Goethe bis Kafka (Dusseldorf, 1962), p. 130.

56 Raimund Belgardt of the higher reality, the higher domain of feeling and imagination must be tempered by reason, must not be carried to excess, and must not be totally divorced from life. As Klara observes: "Wir diirfen nur phantasieren, uns dem Gefiihl und der Ahnung iiberlassen, traumen und witzig sein, wenn [der] trockene Verstand die Schule alien diesen Rossen beigebracht hat" (p. 15). The fact is, that the higher reality and the lower reality must carry equal weight on the scale of human existence. Tieck now impresses upon the reader that the "common sense" of the lower reality must be a necessary component of the higher reality, the domain of emotions and poetic imagination. The key to this reconciliation and convergence of the higher and lower reality is the element of moderation: "Allés, was unser Leben schon machen soil, beruht auf einer Schonung, da 6 wir die liebliche Dammerung, vermoge welcher allés Edle in sanfter Befriedigung schwebt, nicht zu grell erleuchten" (p. 46). The term "Schonung" implies two things. First, the illusion which appearances create—"die Tàuschung der Erscheinungen"—must be carefully guarded. For if this illusion is rationalized away, there is nothing left to life but "transience and decay, death and destruction" (p. 46). In other words, only by virtue of this illusion is it possible to perceive the ideal side of things, to perceive the realm of the poetic imagination where, if willing, any man can enter and experience the beauty of love and poetry, experience happiness and contentment. Secondly, Schonung implies that neither the materialistic principles of the lower reality nor the fantasy, emotions, and reveries of the higher realm will be allowed to grow to excess. To live a "treppenloses Dasein"12 is possible only for a short time. The needs of the lower reality have to be met even by Heinrich and Klara who possess the "unusual carelessness" to be able to forget everything "in the enjoyment of the present moment" (p. 48). Ironically, the removal of the staircase, which increases the seclusion of the couple, is necessitated by the needs of the lower world: the steps are used as firewood to protect the couple from the biting cold of winter. This "existence without steps" would not be possible were it not for the link to the outside world represented by the old servant woman. The necessities of life provided by this woman at great sacrifice are hauled upstairs by means of a rope. Other links to the 12

Von Wiese, p. 126.

Poetic Imagination and External Reality in Tieck 57 outside world also exist in the form of the valuable Chaucer book, which is later described as, and actually is, "die Treppe, die uns wieder zueinandergefuhrt hat" (p. 68), and in the friendship with Andreas Vandelmeer. Vandelmeer has come all the way from India to visit Heinrich; and Tieck has him arrive just at the right moment: when Heinrich is denounced as a "hardened criminar (p. 64), and is about to be incarcerated for the removal of the steps, that is, for having carried the seclusion of the higher domain to excess. All ends well, however, and Klara and Heinrich look forward to living again "anstândig und in behaglicher Wohlhabenheit" (p. 69). This "comfortable prosperity" is characteristic of life in the Biedermeier style. No longer is external reality portrayed in only negative terms as in the earlier stories. Klara and Heinrich easily re-enter the lower reality of social intercourse and everyday existence. With them, however, they bring the experience of the higher realm which will enable them to overcome the banality of everyday existence. By bringing to life a measure of idealization, they will be able to enjoy it. This positive portrayal of the lower reality indicates that Tieck has given up the extreme position of early Romanticism. In this story, a view of human existence is expressed which gives recognition not only to man's spiritual aspirations but to his materialistic needs as well. Through the exercise of moderation the two extremes have been brought together. The reconstruction of the steps is symbolic for bringing the extremes together, for bridging the gulf between the lower and the higher reality. Having become rich, Heinrich pays lavishly for a new staircase. Comparing the fate of the protagonists in relation to the two realities portrayed in all three stories, the following conclusions present themselves. Heinrich and Klara are not guilty of using the wealth of the higher realm to serve materialistic idols in the lower realm. They recognize the importance of the interdependence of the two realms and successfully combine the merits of both. Unhealthy situations arise when either the materialistic principles of the lower reality or the idealization of the higher domain grow to excess. Bertha and Eckbert use the wealth of the higher realm to serve the materialistic principles of the lower realm. This leads to their downfall. Thus, total subservience of the higher reality to the lower reality seems to be the cardinal sin. Christian is for a short time guilty of using the wealth of the higher

58 Raimund Belgardt reality for personal gain in the lower reality. For this "sin," he suffers extreme anguish while wavering between the two realms. Eventually, he relinquishes all material possessions and all ties with the lower reality to exist in total isolation in the higher realm. He is lost to external reality. An excess of the qualities of the higher realm is thus an unhealthy situation also. Only when the two realities converge and continue to exist together in moderation can an environment be created which is fit for man to live in. Both his spiritual and materialistic needs can then be satisfied. What may thus grant an equal balance and a successful convergence of the higher and lower reality is the retention of moderation in both realms, which involves raising the quality of external reality and tempering that of the poetic imagination. By applying a great deal of humour, ironic detachment, and Schonung, Tieck was able to present in Des Lebens Überflufi this successful interaction and integration of the two realms. However, literary history shows that Tieck's final reconciliation of the dualism between the two realities was a unique achievement. Not all authors were able to lead a pair of Romantic protagonists to a "cozy prosperity." Only a few authors of the nineteenth century heeded Tieck's plea for Schonung. Others turned a glaring spotlight on this problem of whether it is still possible to achieve a harmonious relationship between the two realms. Hoffman is one of these, and his answer to the problem is negative. One of the factors which results in giving less and less recognition to the domain of poetic imagination is the advance of technology. In Der Sandmann Hoffman shows the horrifying effects of the invasion and usurpation by technology of the higher domain. Thus, this story well exemplifies the progressive development of the dualism between the two realms in later Romanticism. Technical skill has produced a mechanical doll, Olimpia, which has become the symbol of the higher reality for the poet Nathanael. This doll speaks few words, "aber diese wenigen Worte erscheinen als echte Hiéroglyphe der innern Welt voll Liebe und hoher Erkenntnis des geistigen Lebens in der Anschauung des ewigen Jenseits" (II, 404).13 And referring to Olimpia, Hoffman raises in essence the same question 13 E. T. A. Hoffmann, Poetische Werke, 6 vols. (Berlin, 1958). Page references to vols. I and II of this edition pertain to the texts of Der goldene Topf and Der Sandmann respectively.

Poetic Imagination and External Reality in Tieck 59 as Tieck: "Vermag denn iiberhaupt ein Kind des Himmels sich einzuschichten in den engen Kreis, den ein klàgliches irdisches Bedürfnis gezogen?" (II, 405) Hoffman's answer is not only negative, but has grotesque implications. Not only is Nathanael unable to convince the unimaginatively "cold and prosaic people" of the authenticity of the realm of poetic imagination, but Nathanael himself is forced to suffer the recognition that his Hiéroglyphe is not an authentic one, that Olimpia is merely a lifeless doll. This recognition Nathanael cannot bear; his mind unhinged, he is brought to the insane asylum (II, 407). When Nathanael finally dies, his head smashed on the stone pavement (II, 411), he perishes, so it seems, because there is no longer any purpose in his being alive. As a poet, he needs an audience and Klara is his audience only as long as he writes charming, lively stories (II, 391), for they entertain her while she knits, embroiders, feeds the bird, plays with her lap dog or her favourite cat, while she brews coffee or prepares breakfast. Her cold, prosaic spirit has no understanding for any poetry that is not "charming." Since, however, a poet's inner experiences comprise "allés Wunderbare, Herrliche, Entsetzliche, Lustige, Grauenhafte" (II, 387), he has to give shape also to the "terrible and the dreadful." Any poetry arising from these experiences Klara meets with "unconquerable intellectual lethargy" (II, 391). And she admonishes Nathanael to throw away such poetry. Nathanael's fate of being without an audience is echoed in the words of the narrator: "Mich hat, wie ich es dir, geneigter Léser, gestehen mutë, eigentlich niemand nach der Geschichte des jungen Nathanael gefragt . . ." (II, 387). This is a most tragic fate, for the poet needs to tell someone of his inner turmoil and poetic visions, if he is not to choke on them. "Es gàrte und kochte in dir, zur siedenden Glut entziindet, sprang das Blut durch die Adern und fárbte hôher deine Wangen. .. . Und nun wolltest du das innere Gebilde mit alien gliihenden Farben und Schatten und Lichtern aussprechen. . . ." ( II, 386 f. ) But nobody cares to listen. Both Nathanael and the narrator feel this inner compulsion to tell of their poetic experiences. Unlike Nathanael, however, who is thrown back on himself and left to suffocate from his inner turmoil, the narrator does tell his story: he invents a reader and proceeds on an "as if" basis: ". . . du weifit ja aber wohl, dafi ich zu dem wunderlichen Geschlechte der Autoren gehôre, denen, tragen sie

60 Raimund Belgardt etwas so in sich, wie ich es vorhin beschrieben, so zumute wird, als frage jeder, der in ihre Nàhe kommt, und nebenher auch wohl noch die ganze Welt: Was ist es denn? Erzáhlen Sie Liebster!'" (II, 387) This courage to carry on in spite of being without an audience prefigures the fate of many modern authors who, in the midst of a materialistically oriented age, continue to express their concern for what Schlegel called "die hôheren Anlagen des Menschen." The problem raised by the early Romantics is advanced by Hoffman also in a number of other ways. The general dualism between the realm of poetic imagination and external reality becomes the more specific polarity of artist versus society. The poet Nathanael, unlike Klara, is unable to relate to external reality. Secondly, Hoffman has technology usurp Nathanael's higher domain, thereby indirectly questioning its authenticity. In his earlier story, Der goldene Topf (1814), Hoffman had not questioned this authenticity. Serpentina is still a genuine Hiéroglyphe constantly admonishing Anselmus to believe, to love, and to hope (I, 356). By believing implicitly in the transcendental force of the three values, faith, love, and hope, Anselmus finally attains Atlantis which represents "life in the realm of poetry." And the author, although himself unable to enter Atlantis like his fairy-tale hero, has there at least a foothold. He is reminded and assured of this fact by Archivarius Lindhorst: "Still, still, Verehrter! klagen Sie nicht so!—Waren Sie nicht soeben selbst in Atlantis, und haben Sie denn nicht auch dort wenigstens einen artigen Meierhof als poetisches Besitztnm Ihres innern Sinus?" (I, 374) No such assurance is given in Der Sandmann. Here the problem of poetic imagination versus external reality is advanced by posing the question of what to do with this "poetic endowment," what to do with the visions and products of a poetic imagination if everyday reality regards these things as utterly superfluous. The poet Nathanael cannot bcfir to live with this truth, although the presence of the narrator creates an illusion, "as if" someone cared to read of his poetic experiences. All former values seem to have lost their authenticity. No longer are there any hopes expressed for finding a Golden Age where all dissonances are resolved through the permeation of external reality by the spirit of poetry. But the search continues in the hope of finding, not universal, but perhaps individual truths. To carry on in the face of

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adversity seems to be a value in itself. We might conclude that Hoffmann has articulated an ethos of courage that projects well into the future. His courageous efforts to persevere in the face of overwhelming odds echo, for instance, in the words of Gottfried Benn, spoken more than a hundred years later: ". . . es wird unsere Aufgabe bleiben, die Stunde dieser geistigen Welt, solange sie dauert, weiter mit unseren menschlichen Bildern zu erfullen, so traueruberladen, so untergangssicher, so monologisch oder so hybrid sie sind."14 14

Gottfried Benn, D&ppelleben (Wiesbaden, 1950), p. 212.

The Grotesque in Barlach's Works

Towards an Understanding of his World BERNARD R. ANDERSON

The term "grotesque" appears but rarely in the writings of the sculptor-playwright Ernst Barlach. It must also be noted at the outset that very little investigation has been made of grotesquery in Barlach's works or of its origin and place within his Weltanschauung, despite the great bulk of Barlach criticism in recent years. To be sure, some of his works have been loosely described as ''grotesque," but in fact, no major critic dealing specifically with the phenomenon of the grotesque has cited examples from Barlach's works either in the formation of, or as support for his thesis. However, despite all this there is good reason not only for designating as "grotesque" some of the characters which he created and situations which he depicted, but also for seeing the origin of his artistic creativity in his capacity to experience and appreciate the manifestations of the grotesque in his life. This of course does not call for a reappraisal or redefinition of the grotesque as such. Indeed, an attempt of this sort would not only be presumptuous at this stage (some excellent studies have already been made of the phenomenon ) but also unnecessary, for much of Barlach's work would easily qualify as grotesque on the basis of almost any of the available studies. However, the inclusion of some of the best of Barlach within the designated limits of the term would not only give the concept added depth, but would go a long way toward resolving some of the problems connected with its use. Although there still exists a fairly wide variance of opinion as to exactly what it is which makes an object or a situation grotesque, i.e., how tihe phenomenon should be formally defined—or, indeed, whether it can be "formally" defined—there is relatively clear agreement in the

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selection of examples of the grotesque. Many of the difficulties associated with a deductive approach to the subject can therefore be avoided by relying more upon the critics' discussion of examples of the grotesque than upon their often dubious attempts to extract a common denominator and so reduce the phenomenon to a formula. Some attempts have been made to deal with the grotesque in purely aesthetic or formal terms, but the resulting definitions do not appear viable. In Deutsche Lyrik der Moderne, Clemens Heselhaus resists the inclusion of any question of content when he defines the grotesque as the appearance of the heterogeneous in unexpected combinations: "Vielleicht ist eine inhaltliche Bestimmung nicht moglich, weil das Groteske nach der jeweiligen Gesellschaftslage eine andere Funktion und andere Inhalte hat. Wohl aber gibt es eine fórmale Bestimmung des Grotesken als die uberraschende Zusammenfiigung des Heterogenen. . . . In der Vermischung der Bereiche, Ordnungen, Stile besteht als wesentlich die Erscheinung des Grotesken."1 However, Reinhold Grimm speaks for many when in his study of the grotesque in the works of Durrenmatt, he refers to Heselhaus' attempt at definition, expressing full appreciation of the difficulties to be encountered in any attempt to define the grotesque other than "formally" but doubting the usefulness of any definition which does not attempt to do so. The grotesque in Diirrenmatt's world, as in that of many other writers, he argues, cannot be dealt with adequately without reference to what he calls the demonic element. He contends: "In Wahrheit umfaEt das Groteske bei Durrenmatt—und wir dürfen mit Fug und Recht vermut en: das Groteske uberhaupt—s o w o h l d a s F a r c e n h a f t e w i e d a s D a m o n i s c h e , und in seinen besten Gestaltungen geht das eine ununterscheidbar ins andere iiber. . . . Angst und Grauen vor dem Spuk der Welt mischen sich fortwàhrend mit dem unbàndigen Drang, dieselbe Welt zu foppen und zum Narren zu halten. . . ."2 Without a doubt a consensus of those investigating the phenomenon would bear out Grimm's objection. Even the otherwise formal discussion of the grotesque by George Santayana is summed up in terms which leave the door open to the irrational, for he defines the grotesque as "the 1 Clemens Heselhaus, Deutsche Lyrik der Moderne, von Nietzsche bis Yvan Goll (Dusseldorf, 1961), pp. 287-88. 2 Reinhold Grimm, "Parodie und Groteske im Werke Friedrich Diirrenmatts," Germanisch-romanische Monatsschrift, N.F, 11 (1961), 449.

64 Bernard R. Anderson half-formed, the perplexed, and the suggestively monstrous."3 It would appear that there is but little chance of survival for a definition which does not somehow take into account that element of man's irrational fear which lurks beneath the surface (John Ruskin called it "divine fear"), that element of irrational insecurity which, at its best, the grotesque has the power to lay so terribly bare. John Ruskin's discussion of the grotesque in The Stones of Venice appears to be essential to both the conception and the formulation of Lee B. Jennings' original and ingenious definition in his book, The Ludicrous Demon: Aspects of the Grotesque in German Post-Romantic Prose. With original research carried out quite independently of Wolfgang Kayser, Jennings arrives at a tempting if perhaps deceptively simple definition. "The grotesque," he asserts, "is the demonic made trivial."4 Ruskin had observed that in almost all cases the grotesque was composed of two elements, one ludicrous, the other fearful.5 However, Jennings, seeing the essential dynamic of the grotesque not in the combination, but rather in the precarious balance of the two, views any excess of one or the other as a weakening of the grotesque effect, and as a degeneration into either the bizarre (droll, fantastic) or the terrible (gruesome, weird).6 He refers to Durer's representation of the devil and to the Gothic gargoyles, in which "the great profusion of claws, beaks, horns and so on, serves as much to diminish the elemental menace of the figure as to emphasize it, and the characteristic bestial leer of the face expresses idiotic clownishness as well as demonic malevolence."7 The degree of dynamic tension between these two aspects determines the power of the grotesque. To the extent to which the fearful element becomes ominous and threatens to dominate, it must be disarmed and made trivial by the ludicrous. The playful tendency in man, of which Ruskin spoke, is hereby made a mechanism for preserving the stability and well-being of the mind from the disruptive forces which threaten to destroy it. Here, in the "undisturbed 3

George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty (New York, 1898), p. 257. Lee Byron Jennings, The Ludicrous Demon, Aspects of the Grotesque in German Post-Romantic Prose, University of California Publications in Modern Philology, 71 (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1963), p. 16. 5 John Ruskin, The Works of John Ruskin, ed. E. T. Cook and A. Wedderburn (London, 1904), XI, 151. 6 Jennings, p. 16. 7 Jennings, p. 14. 4

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65

functioning of the disarming mechanism and the preservation of the balance between the fearsome and ludicrous aspects," Jennings sees the "basis of the unity of the concept 'grotesque'."8 One will not doubt the usefulness of Jennings' study, but one can hardly refrain from asking (Jennings himself has his moment of doubt)9 whether such a category, for all its usefulness and ingenuity, should not be given a name other than "grotesque." If this precarious balance between the fearful and the ludicrous is indeed essential, much of that which has become stock-in-trade of the grotesque, such as the tortured souls which Dante depicts in the Inferno as trees, must be discarded. Jennings is willing to do so, but others are not. There also appears to be an inconsistency in his requiring that the grotesque should function as a disarming mechanism, for many of the examples he cites (such as late Gothic sculpture) were works of art created, by his own admission, with a newly acquired confidence, in which the bogey has already been subdued.10 The original effect of such grotesques would seem to be the playful invocation rather than the disarming of the supernatural. The artist was motivated by his fascination for the subject rather than by his instinct for self-preservation. But there is yet another problem here: the term "demonic." Although its inclusion within the definition should satisfy many who are unhappy with a purely "formal" definition, its usefulness is deceptive, for the term may be defined in any number of ways and is subject to constant abuse and misuse. We are in effect back where we started. The ambiguity inherent in the word "grotesque" has been transferred to "demonic," and a real solution is as far away as ever. Of the many attempts in our century to come to terms with the phenomenon of the grotesque, one of the most perceptive, considering its pioneering position, is the dissertation by Ernst Schweizer, Das Groteske und das Drama Frank Wedekinds (Tubingen, 1932), a work to which even Wolfgang Kayser acknowledges a great indebtedness.11 Using an essentially deductive, historical approach, although he does not limit himself to that, Schweizer describes the four distinguishing characteristics of the grotesque as: 1) "Die Steigerung," 2) "Das 8

Jennings, p. 17. 10 Jennings, p. 27. Jennings, pp. 15-16. 11 Wolf gang Kayser, Dos Groteske, seine Gestaltung in der Dichtung und Malerei (Oldenburg, 1958), p. 219. 9

66 Bernard R. Anderson Verlassen des Lebensgesetzlichen," 3) "Die innere Dissonanz," 4) "Die Negativitát."12 The first of these, intensification, he considers the most essential, including within the scope of the term "Steigerung" abnormal diminution as well as excessive enlargement. Essential here is that the laws of nature have been overstepped and an incursion has been made into the realm of the fantastic and unreal. "Die Aufhebung des Naturgesetzlichen, des Organisch-Gegebenen ist unbedingt notwendig, um die Bezeichnung grotesk mit Recht zu verwenden."13 Any occurrence whatsoever which appears in nature may be bizarre, he argues, but never grotesque. Not only is the natural, external order to be abandoned, but extreme distortion on every level, causing an inner dissonance, is required. Schweizer here chooses the hunchback Quasimodo, Victor Hugo's bellringer of Notre Dame, as the classic example of a figure who seems to have been created at cross-purposes with himself. With reference to the last of his four points, negativity, Schweizer denies the possibility of gracing the grotesque with a positive sign. He is willing to grant to it "eine gewisse pathetische GrôÊe," but the grotesque and any desirable characteristics are poles apart. "Das HaÊliche, Rose, Gemeine, Greuliche, Grauenhafte, Grâfiliche, Ungeheuerliche, Damonische, ScheuBliche, Restialische, Unmenschliche, die Dissonanz—das ist Mutter und Nahrboden des Grotesken. Die Nachtseiten des Lebens sind das groEe Gebiet, in dem das Groteske emporschie K t und sich ubersteigert."14 In his dissertation Schweizer seems to have attempted to arrive at a "formal" definition. The first two and possibly even the first three of his points approach a definition which allows for but a nominal degree of subjectivity on the part of the observer. But as Grimm has indicated (and as Kayser clearly demonstrates in his own attempt at a definition), the three points fail to exhaust the range of what they seek to define. Nor does the additional requirement that the grotesque be negatively oriented correct the matter, for this in itself is open to dispute. Throughout his consideration of the grotesque two factors have served as norms for Schweizer: man, and associated with him, his normal, everyday reality. The perpetuation of the world which man has constructed for himself and the preservation in that world of man as he is are assumed to be the highest good, and everything else is 12

Schweizer, p. 25. Schweizer, pp. 17-18.

14

13

Schweizer, p. 12.

The Grotesque in Barlach's Works 67 judged in relation to these two imperatives. As a consequence of this normalization, Schweizer sees the grotesque as a product of a nihilistic tendency within the artist: "Das Groteske kennt keinen Zweck, sondern entspringt einer negativen Grundbestimmung. .. . Sein Wesen liegt tief begrundet in der Weltauflosung des Menschen bezw. des Künstlers, dessen Ausdrucksform das Groteske ist."15 In our consideration of the grotesque in Barlach our attention will centre largely around this very problem of "Weltauflosung" and negativity. As will be seen, in Barlach's world Schweizer's norms do not apply, for Barlach aligns himself not with the human but with that which surpasses puerile man in his mundane world. As a result, the dissolution of man's world may well be regarded as having purpose and as being a step upwards, and not necessarily a plunge into chaos. The treatment of the grotesque which has enjoyed the widest acceptance and which shows the greatest promise of becoming definitive is that of Wolfgang Kayser. In his book, Dos Groteske, seine Gestaltung in der Dichtung unà Malerei, Kayser very neatly reduces the first three of Schweizer's demands to one, and what he therewith gains in elegance he gains also in general applicability. "Das Groteske," he asserts, "ist die entfremdete Welt." And he continues: Dazu gehort, da 6, was uns vertraut und heimisch war, sich plôtzlich als fremd und unheimlich enthullt. Es ist unsere Welt, die sich verwandelt hat. , . . Das Grauen überfállt uns so stark, weil es eben unsere Welt ist, deren Verla filichkeit sich als Schein erweist. Zugleich spiiren wir, dafi wir in dieser verwandelten Welt nicht zu leben vermochten. Es geht beim Grotesken nicht um Todesfurcht. sondern um Lebensangst. Zur Struktur des Grotesken gehôrt, dafi die Kategorien unserer Weltorientierung versagen.16 For Kayser, Schweizer's "Steigerung" and "Verlassen des Lebensgesetzlichen" are but means to this end (of creating "die entfremdete Welt") and his "innere Dissonanz" is but a symptom of it. However, Kayser's inclusion of the element of surprise is new: "Die Plôtzlichkeit, die Überraschung gehôrt wesentlich zum Grotesken."17 This element was one of Santayana's original requirements and remains one of the chief impediments to a purely "formal" definition. Kayser's remaining three points are concerned with the origin and content of the grotesque, and it is here that he probes most deeply but 15

Schweizer, p. 18.

vibid.

16

Kayser, pp. 198-99.

68 Bernard R. Anderson also opens himself to attack. Heselhaus appears to regard Kayser's question, "Wer aber bewirkt die Entfremdung der Welt, wer kundigt sich in der bedrohlichen Hintergriindigkeit an?"18 as little more than semantical nonsense, and the very posing of it as an unnecessary demonizing of the concept.19 But for Kayser the question is meaningful because it has no answer, and in a sense, the question itself is meant to be an invocation of the unknown. A consideration of these elements, he contends, is unavoidable in any thorough treatment of the phenomenon, for the grotesque is in fact "die Gestaltung des 'Es'," "ein Spiel mit dem Absurden," "der Versuch, das Dámonische in der Welt zu bannen und zu beschwôren."20 It is unfortunate that Kayser and other critics have found it necessary to introduce into their definitions such relative indeterminants as the terms "das Es," "das Absurde," and "das Dámonische." We will have more to say in an attempt at clarification of these terms during our consideration of the grotesque in some of the works of Ernst Barlach. Some of Barlach's earliest experiences involved encounters with the mystical "Es" of which Kayser speaks: ". . . jenes 'spukhafte' Es, das Amann als die dritte Bedeutung des Impersonalen (neben der psychologischen em es freut mich—und der kosmischen—es regnet, es blitzt) bestimmt hat."21 In his autobiography, Ein selbsterzahltes Leben, Barlach describes his experiences as a child with mystical forces beyond his ken. Appearing unpredictably as if through the fissures in the masonry of creation, that which Barlach himself later designates as a supernatural and quite indescribable "Es" became an integral part of the world of the young boy. Mein Bruder Hans half mir bei dieser Aufgabe, so gut er konnte [he wrote], wir schmarotzten am Frischen so gut wie am Paulen, spürten aber um uns herum manches Bedenkliche, auf das achtzugeben nôtig wurde, Dinge, die man nicht sehen und nicht hôren konnte und die doch gewifi wirklich waren. "Es" kann kommen oder nicht, machten wir uns aus, als wir am taghellen Sommerabend im Bett lagen—"sieh du nadh der Stubenseite, ich wül die Wand bewachen," denn wir wufiten bald, daÊ "Es" auch durch Wànde kam. [I, 15]22 iSKayser, p. 199. i^Heselhaus, pp. 287-88. °Kayser, pp. 199, 201, 202 respectively. 21 Kayser, p. 199. 22 References to Barlach's works and correspondence are included in parenthesis in the text as follows: page references alone are to the volume Dramen; page 2

The Grotesque in Barlach's Works 69 The same mystical insight came to him as a youth with the impact of a sudden revelation or, as he later termed it, a glimpse through the cracks or chinks in the fabric of the world: Beim Streifen durchs Fuchsholz aber fiel mir die Binde von den Augen, und ein Wesensteil des Waldes schlupfte in einem ahnungslos gekommenen Nu durch die Lichtlôcher zu mir herein, die erste von áhnlichen Überwáltigungen in dieser Zeit meines neunten bis zwôlften Jahres, das Bewufitwerden eines Dinges, eines Wirklichen ohne Darstellbarkeit—oder wenn ich es hâtte sagen müssen, wie das Zwinkern eines wohlbekannten Auges durch den Spalt des maigrünen Buchenblatterhimmels. [I, 20] It should be noted that such experiences were not traumatic to the young Barlach, concerned as he was with the absorption of whatever was offered him of the superfluity of nature. There was as yet no "Grubeln," no attempt to dwell upon or analyse the ultimate significance of that which was so freely offered and so joyously received. Even at the age of twenty-four Barlach could write in much the same glowing terms to his friend Friedrich Düsel of the depersonalization experienced while watching Hauptmann's Hanneles Himmelfahrt on stage: ". . . Ich fiihle mich wie ein Geist, der die irdische Huile mit seiner Schwere und Umstandlichkeit abgestreift hat und umherschwirrt auf freien Schwingen, schwebt, wo es Liebe und Glück und Poésie und 'Monddammer' und 'Bergeshohen' gibt" (Br., II [Feb. 26, 1894], 36). However, as Barlach dwelt upon the vision of something higher, the lower region to which he found himself bound became increasingly intolerable. Each new glimpse through the chinks increased the desire to escape his narrow confines; each new vision of something higher increased the "Panik vor dem So-Sein," as he termed it, and robbed his normal, everyday experiences of much of their worth and reality. However, Barlach was not the man to escape entirely through these chinks and lose himself to the world. Throughout his life he was continually concerned with the problems of imperfect man in an imperfect numbers following the Roman numeral I or II refer to the volumes Prosa I and Prosa II respectively of the Piper edition, Ernst Barlach, Das dichterische Werk in drei Banden (München, 1956-59); Br., I, and Br., II, followed by the date and page number, refer to the two editions of Barlach's letters, I, the small paperback selection, Ernst Barlach, Aus seinen Brief en (München, 1947), and II, letters not contained in the above edition, quoted from Ernst Barlach, Leben und Werk in seinen Brief en (München, 1952).

70 Bernard R. Anderson world. On the contrary, he grew to find of artistic interest only that aspect of man which grew out of the misery of the times and so displayed some elemental contact with the eternal. This determination to perceive and represent artistically the incursions of the supernatural or eternal into the mundane world would not have found such grotesque expression had the panic been less acute. This incapacity or unwillingness to treat himself or the world and its inhabitants with detached irony is also to be seen in his artistic treatment of divinity. Throughout his life Barlach nurtured a faith in the ultimate meaningfulness of man in his universe; and although he seldom gave rein to speculation about it, he also fostered a belief in higher spheres of existence. "Ich glaube ja," he wrote in 1916, "da 6 seit Anbeginn schon hohere Reiche gebaut und gediehen sind ais das Erdenreich des Menschen. Es gibt naturlich gôttliche Existenz gegen die menschliche gesehen. . . . sollte der menschlich geistig-leibliche Organismus das Letzte und Hochste sein?" (Br., II [May 20, 1916], 88) It is therefore not surprising that in Barlach's world mankind came to occupy a relatively low position in the scale of creation. Also his perception of a divine component in the world prevented him from fostering a value system in which the human element alone was normative. Yet when Barlach envisaged a higher reality than that of earth, he peopled it with deities coldly superior to man and little concerned with him. The higher existence he envisaged was not an extension of man's familiar world, now purified. On the contrary, it was non-human, threatening, and hostile to man. Among other things, it is this—from a human standpoint—questionable nature and role of the divine in Barlach's world which makes his works so problematic. The dichotomous nature of man, aware as he sometimes is of the higher, yet bound to the lower and temporal, is one of Barlach's favourite themes. In his sculpture this dichotomy is quite obvious. The massive garments which envelop his figures weigh down upon them and bind them to the earth from which they would otherwise escape in ecstasy, rage, forgetfulness, prayer, or some other means of depersonalization. Among his circle of acquaintances, Barlach describes some who seemed to suffer unduly under the massive weight of the flesh. These Barlach regarded as belonging to some higher form of life, as originating from some higher sphere of existence. As the earthly incarnations of one of these higher forms of existence, Barlach

The Grotesque in Barlach's Works

71

considered his friends Theodor Dâubler and Albert Kollmann, with whom he was long acquainted and to whom he often referred in his works, both by name and under the guise of other characters. Of a manuscript dealing with the two, the editor of Barlach's collected works, Friedrich Drofi, writes: "Auf dem Titelschild ursprünglich nur die Aufschrift: Der hohe Herr-, darüber nachtráglich in kleinerer Schrift: Diario Dâubler/Konto Kollmann. . . ." Especially in consideration of Barlach's use of the term "hoher Herr" in his drama, Der arme Vetter, this notation indicates the position the two men held symbolically in the artist's mind. But Barlach himself is even more explicit. In the autumn of 1915 he wrote: "Ich weiE oder ahne nur dies, das ich ohnehin wuBte: die Sunder und Unseligen sind ebenso gute Heilige, wie die Heiligen selbst, da ist kein Unterschied, wir sind Verfluchte, Verbannte, Strâflinge im Leben—Dâubler, dem gebiirt ein hoher Rang, er ist wie ein Grofifurst in Ungnade, seine Fürstlichkeit schaut überall durch die Náhte seiner Kleider" (Br., II [Sept. 23, 1915], 78). And shortly thereafter: "Ich meine es ... bitterernst, wenn ich meinen Freund, den Dichter Dâubler für einen verirrten Herrn aus einer hoheren Existenzform, aus ubermenschlichem Bereich halte" (Br., II [April 23, 1916], 86). But Barlach did not see in Dâubler the conventional divine virtues of love and compassion. On the contrary, he is "ein gnadenlos Herabschauender. In seinem Blick, bei aller Milde und Versohntheit, liegt kein Verbrüderungsanerbieten. . . . Er schaut drein wie . . . ein gewaltiger, ungetumlicher Wanderpoet. Der leidet an sich selbst und an der Welt wie ein verbannter Gott. Er schaut drein wie ein Gesandter eines barbarischen Kaisers." (II, 371) This Dâubler is not superhuman in the normal sense, as an extension of the human, but supra-human, "ubermenschlich" in Nietzsche's sense, belonging to a different species in the galaxy of creation. Kollmann lacks Dáubler's corporal majesty, but not his royal disdain: "Sein Her- und Absender, sein Abgott ist eine Fiktion, seine Idee, sein Gott, er selbst. . . . Er ist unerbittlich, unbarmherzig; Abwesenheit aller Weichheit ist sein Hauptmanko, denn sein freundlichstes Lácheln hat etwas Schabendes, Abblâtterndes. Aber dann .. . hebt er den Stein auf und deckt ekelhafte Gange und lichtscheues Gewiirm auf in dem Andern." (II, 3S7--88) In Diario Dâubler Barlach seeks also to trace the origin of man's fear of the divine and his apparent incapacity to endure it. He speaks of that element of the unknown in man which, although godly in the

72 Bernard R. Anderson highest Barlachian sense, man fears and despises for its inhumanity, for its "over-humanity": Die Turmvorkirche St. Marien in Stralsund, das Turminnere als Vor- und Sonderkirche eines ubergôttlichen Gottes ohne Dogma und Konvention, blofi Gefiihl der Gewalt, der Hohe, des Ungeheuerseins, kein Verhàltnis zum Menschen wie drinnen mit Chor, Schiff und dem ganzen Herkommen—hier vorne nur ein Bekenntnis des Unbegreiflichen, nicht des Menschenvaters, sondern des Unmenschlichen, den doch auch der Mensch in sich ahnt, den er aber nicht verehrt, sondern gegen den er sich bàumt wie in Verachtung ais Entgelt für Verachtung, fürs Über-Sein. [II, 373] But with Barlach the anger is usually directed not against the higher, but against the earthly which falls so short of the divine. For example, in Der tote Tag, the son replies to Kule's remark that many men have