=Hölderlin=
A case such as that of Hölderlin, subject as he was from the time of his
boyhood to melancholy, and ending in hopeless insanity, at once suggests
the question of heredity. Little or nothing is known concerning his
remote ancestors. His great-grandfather had been administrator of a
convent at Grossbottwar, and died of dropsy of the chest at the age of
forty-seven. His grandfather had held a similar position as
"Klosterhofmeister und geistlicher Verwalter" at Lauffen, to which his
son, the poet's father, succeeded. An apoplectic stroke ended his life
at the early age of thirty-six. In regard to Hölderlin's maternal
ancestors, our information is even more scant, though we know that both
his grandmother and his mother lived to a ripe old age. From the poet's
references to them we judge them to have been entirely normal types of
intelligent, lovable women, gifted with a great deal of good practical
sense. The only striking thing is the premature death of Hölderlin's
great-grandfather and father. But in view of the nature of their
stations in life, in which they may fairly be supposed to have led more
than ordinarily sober and well-ordered lives, there seems to be no
ground whatever for assuming that Hölderlin's Weltschmerz owed its
inception in any degree to hereditary tendencies, notwithstanding
Hermann Fischer's opinion to the contrary.[12] There is no sufficient
reason to assume "erbliche Belastung," and there are other sufficient
causes without merely guessing at such a possibility.
But while there are no sufficient historical grounds for the supposition
that he brought the germ of his subsequent mental disease with him in
his birth, we cannot fail to observe, even in the child, certain
natural traits, which, being allowed to develop unchecked, must of
necessity hasten and intensify the gloom which hung over his life. To
his deep thoughtfulness was added an abnormal sensitiveness to all
external influences. Like the delicate anemone, he recoiled and withdrew
within himself when touched by the rougher material things of life.[13]
He himself poetically describes his absentmindedness when a boy, and
calls himself "ein Träumer"; and a dreamer he remained all his life. It
seems to have been this which first brought him into discord with the
world:
Oft sollt' ich stracks in meine Schule wandern,
Doch ehe sich der Träumer es versah,
So hatt' er in den Garten sich verirrt,
Und sass behaglich unter den Oliven,
Und baute Flotten, schifft' ins hohe Meer.
* * * * *
Dies kostete mich tausend kleine Leiden,
Verzeihlich war es immer, wenn mich oft
Die Klügeren, mit herzlichem Gelächter
Aus meiner seligen Ekstase schreckten,
Doch unaussprechlich wehe that es mir.[14]
If ever a boy needed a strong fatherly hand to guide him, to teach him
self-reliance and practical sense, it was this dreamy, tender-spirited
child.[15] The love and sympathy which his mother bestowed upon him was
not calculated to fit him for the rugged experiences of life, and while
probably natural and pardonable, it was nevertheless extremely
unfortunate that the boy was unconsciously encouraged to be and to
remain a "Muttersöhnchen." But even with his peculiar trend of
disposition, the result might not have been an unhappy one, had the
course of his life not brought him more than an ordinary share of
misfortune. This overtook him early in life, for when but two years of
age his father died. His widowed mother now lived for a few years in
complete retirement with her two children--the poet's sister Henrietta
having been born just a few weeks after his father's demise. But it was
not long before death again entered the household and robbed it of
Hölderlin's aunt, his deceased father's sister, who was herself a widow
and the faithful companion of the poet's mother. When the latter found
herself again alone with her two little ones, whose care was weighing
heavily upon her, she consented to become the wife of her late husband's
friend, Kammerrat Gock, and accompanied him to his home in the little
town of Nürtingen on the Neckar. But this re-established marital
happiness was to be of brief duration, for in 1779 her second husband
died, and the mother was now left with four little children to care and
provide for.
The frequency with which death visited the family during his childhood
and youth, familiarized him at an early age with scenes of sorrow and
grief. No doubt he was too young when his father died to comprehend the
calamity that had come upon the household, but it was not many months
before he knew the meaning of his mother's tears, not only for his
father, but also for his sister, who died in her infancy. Referring to
his father's death, he writes in one of his early poems, "Einst und
Jetzt":[16]
Einst schlugst du mir so ruhig, empörtes Herz!
* * * * *
Einst in des Vaters Schoosse, des liebenden
Geliebten Vaters,--aber der Würger kam,
Wir weinten, flehten, doch der Würger
Schnellte den Pfeil, und es sank die Stütze.
At his tenderest and most impressionable age, the boy was thus made
sadly aware of the fleetingness of human life and the pains of
bereavement. We cannot wonder then at finding these impressions
reflected in his most juvenile poetic attempts. His poem "Das
menschliche Leben," written at the age of fifteen, begins:
Menschen, Menschen! was ist euer Leben,
Eure Welt, die thränenvolle Welt!
Dieser Schauplatz, kann er Freude geben
Wo sich Trauern nicht dazu gesellt?[17]
But a time of still greater unhappiness was in store for him when he
left his home at the age of fourteen to enter the convent school at
Denkendorf, where he began his preparation for a theological course. A
more direct antithesis to all that his body and soul yearned for and
needed for their proper development could scarcely have been devised
than that which existed in the chilling atmosphere and rigorous
discipline of the monastery. He had not even an incentive to endure
hardships for the sake of what lay beyond, for it was merely in passive
submission to his mother's wish that he had decided to enter holy
orders. And now, clad in a sombre monkish gown, deprived of all freedom
of thought or movement and forced into companionship with twenty-five or
thirty fellows of his own age, who nearly all misunderstood him,
Hölderlin felt himself wretched indeed. "Wär' ich doch ewig ferne von
diesen Mauern des Elends!" he writes in a poem at Maulbronn in 1787.[18]
There was for him but one way of escape. It was to isolate himself as
much as possible from the world of harsh reality about him, to be alone,
and there in his solitude to construct for himself an ideal world of
fancy, a poetic dreamland. This mental habit not only remained with him
as he grew into manhood, it may be said to have been through life one of
his most distinguishing characteristics. It would be impossible to make
room here for all the passages in his poems and letters of this period,
which reflect his love of solitude and his habit of retreating into a
world of his own imagining. His letters to his friend Nast almost
invariably contain some expression of his heart-ache. "Bilfinger ist
wohl mein Freund, aber es geht ihm zu glücklich, als dass er sich nach
mir umsehen möchte. Du wirst mich schon verstehen--er ist immer lustig,
ich hänge immer den Kopf."[19] Another letter begins: "Wieder eine
Stunde wegphantasiert!--dass es doch so schlechte Menschen giebt, unter
meinen Cameraden so elende Kerls--wann mich die Freundschaft nicht
zuweilen wieder gut machte, so hätt' ich mich manchmal schon lieber an
jeden andern Ort gewünscht, als unter Menschengesellschaft.--Wann ich
nur auch einmal etwas recht Lustiges schreiben könnte! Nur Gedult! 's
wird kommen--hoff' ich, oder--oder hab' ich dann nicht genug getragen?
Erfuhr ich nicht schon als Bube, was den Mann seufzen machen würde? und
als Jüngling, geht's da besser?--Du lieber Gott! bin ich's denn allein?
jeder andre glücklicher als ich? Und was hab' ich dann gethan?"[20]
There is a world of pathos in this helpless cry of pain, with its
suggestion of retributive fate. A poem of 1788, "Die Stille," written at
Maulbronn, epitomizes almost everything that we have thus far noted as
to Hölderlin's nature. He goes back in fancy to the days of his
childhood, describing his lonely rambles, from which he would return in
the moonlight, unmindful of his lateness for the evening meal, at which
he would hastily eat of that which the others had left:
Schlich mich, wenn ich satt gegessen,
Weg von meinem lustigen Geschwisterpaar.
O! in meines kleinen Stübchens Stille
War mir dann so über alles wohl,
Wie im Tempel war mir's in der Nächte Hülle,
Wann so einsam von dem Turm die Glocke scholl.
Als ich weggerissen von den Meinen
Aus dem lieben elterlichen Haus
Unter Fremden irrte, we ich nimmer weinen
Durfte, in das bunte Weltgewirr hinaus,
O wie pflegtest du den armen Jungen,
Teure, so mit Mutterzärtlichkeit,
Wann er sich im Weltgewirre müd gerungen,
In der lieben, wehmutsvollen Einsamkeit.[21]
This love of solitude is carried to the extreme in his contemplation of
a hermit's life. In a letter to Nast he says: "Heute ging ich so vor
mich hin, da fiel mir ein, ich wolle nach vollendeten Universitäts
Jahren Einsiedler werden--und der Gedanke gefiel mir so wohl, eine
ganze Stunde, glaub' ich, war ich in meiner Fantasie Einsiedler."[22]
And although he never became a hermit, this is the final disposition
which he makes of himself in his "Hyperion."
These habits of thought and feeling, formed in boyhood, could lead to
only one result. He became less and less qualified to comprehend and to
grapple with the practical problems and difficulties of life, and
entered young manhood and the struggle for existence at a tremendous
disadvantage.
Another trait of his character which served to intensify his subsequent
disappointments, was the strong ambition which early filled his soul. He
aspired to high achievements in his chosen field of art. In a letter to
Louise Nast, written probably about the beginning of 1790, he makes the
confession: "Der unüberwindliche Trübsinn in mir ist wohl nicht ganz,
doch meist--unbefriedigter Ehrgeiz."[23] The mere lad of seventeen had
scarcely learned to admire Klopstock, when he speaks of his own
"kämpfendes Streben nach Klopstocksgrösse," and exclaims: "Hinan den
herrlichen Ehrenpfad! Hinan! im glühenden kühnen Traum, sie zu
erreichen!"[24] It is remarkable to note how this fancy of a dream-life
becomes fixed in Hölderlin's mind and reappears in almost every poem.
Closely allied to this idea is that of a "glückliche Trunkenheit," and
expressions like "wie ein Göttertraum das Alter schwand,"
"liebetrunken," "Wie ein Traum entfliehen Ewigkeiten," "siegestrunken,"
"süsse, kühne Trunkenheit," "trunken dämmert die Seele mir," can be
found on almost every page of his shorter poems. Hyperion expresses
himself on one occasion in the words: "O ein Gott ist der Mensch, wenn
er träumt, ein Bettler, wenn er nachdenkt, und wenn die Begeisterung hin
ist, steht er da, wie ein missrathener Sohn, den der Vater aus dem Hause
stiess, und betrachtet die ärmlichen Pfennige, die ihm das Mitleid auf
den Weg gab,"[25] which further illustrates the extravagant idealism by
which he allowed himself to be carried away, and the etherial and
thoroughly unpractical trend of his mind. The flights of fancy of which
Hölderlin is capable are well illustrated by another passage in
"Hyperion." Referring to Hyperion's conversation with Alabanda, he says:
"Ich war hingerissen von unendlichen Hoffnungen, Götterkräfte trugen wie
ein Wölkchen mich fort."[26] These facts have a direct bearing upon
Hölderlin's Weltschmerz, inasmuch as it was just this unequal and
unsuccessful struggle of the idealist with the stern realities of life
that brought about the catastrophe which wrought his ruin.
And just as his ideals are vague and abstract, so too are the
expressions of his Weltschmerz. It needs no concrete idea to arouse his
enthusiasm to its highest pitch. Thus Hyperion exclaims: "Der Gott in
uns, dem die Unendlichkeit zur Bahn sich öffnet, soll stehen und harren,
bis der Wurm ihm aus dem Wege geht? Nein! nein! man frägt nicht, ob ihr
wollt! ihr wollt ja nie--ihr Knechte und Barbaren! Euch will man auch
nicht bessern, denn es ist umsonst! Man will nur dafür sorgen, dass ihr
dem Siegeslauf der Menschheit aus dem Wege geht!"[27] It is in the form
of lofty generalities such as these, and seldom with reference to
practical details, that Hölderlin's longings find expression.
Entirely consistent with this idealism is the nature of his love,
ardent, but etherial, "übersinnlich." This is reflected also in his
lyrics, which are statuesque and beautiful, but lacking in passion and
sensuous charm. Hölderlin's earliest love-affair, that with Louise Nast,
is important for his Weltschmerz only in its bearing upon the
development of his general character. This influence was a twofold one:
in the first place his sweetheart was herself inclined to a sort of
visionary mysticism, and therefore had an unwholesome influence upon the
youth, who had already been carried too far in that direction. She too
was a lover of solitude and wrote her letters to him in the stillness of
the night, when all others were asleep. There can be no doubt that she
had at least some share in determining his mental activity, especially
his reading. In one of his earliest letters to her he writes: "Weil Du
den Don Carlos liest, will ich ihn auch lesen."[28] It was during this
time too that that he became so ardent an admirer of Schubart and
Ossian. "Da leg' ich meinen Ossian weg und komme zu Dir," he writes in
1788 to his friend Nast. "Ich habe meine Seele geweidet an den Helden
des Barden, habe mit ihm getrauert, wann er trauert über sterbende
Mädchen."[29] There is not a sensuous note in all Hölderlin's poems or
letters to Louise. Typical are the lines which he addresses to her on
his departure from Maulbronn:
Lass sie drohen, die Stürme, die Leiden,
Lass trennen--der Trennung Jahre
Sie trennen uns nicht!
Sie trennen uns nicht!
Denn mein bist du! Und über das Grab hinaus
Soll sie dauren, die unzertrennbare Liebe.
O! wenn's einst da ist
Das grosse selige Jenseits,
Wo die Krone dem leidenden Pilger,
Die Palme dem Sieger blinkt,
Dann Freundin--lohnet auch Freundschaft--
Auch Freundschaft der Ewige.[30]
The second bearing which his relations to Louise have upon his
Weltschmerz lies in the fact that his love ended in disappointment. This
is true not only of this particular episode, not only of all his
love-affairs, but it may even be said that disappointment was the fate
to which he found himself doomed in all his aspirations. And in the
persistency with which this evil angel pursued his footsteps through
life may be found one of the chief causes of the early collapse of his
faculties. What David Müller[31] and Hermann Fischer[32] have said in
their essays in regard to this point--that Hölderlin did not become
insane because his life was a succession of unsatisfactory situations
and painful disappointments, but because he had not the strength to work
himself out of these situations into more favorable ones--states only
half the case. True, a stronger mental organization might have overcome
these or even greater difficulties; Schiller, Herder, Fichte are
examples; but not all of Hölderlin's failures and disappointments were
the result of his weakness, and so while it is right to state that a
stronger and more robust nature would have conquered in the fight, it is
also fair to say that Hölderlin would have had a good chance of winning,
had fortune been more kind. For this reason these external influences
must be reckoned with as an important cause of his Weltschmerz and
subsequently of his insanity.
This suggests an interesting point of comparison--if I may be permitted
to anticipate somewhat--with Lenau, the second type selected. Hölderlin
earnestly pursued happiness and contentment, but it eluded him at every
step. Lenau on the contrary reached a point in his Weltschmerz where he
refused to see anything in life but pain, wilfully thrusting from him
even such happiness as came within his reach.
We may postpone any detailed reference to Hölderlin's relations with
Susette Gontard, which were vastly more important in their influence
upon the poet's character and Weltschmerz, until we come to the
discussion of his "Hyperion," of which Susette, under the pseudonym of
Diotima, forms one of the central figures.
To speak of all the disappointments which fell to Hölderlin's lot would
practically require the writing of his biography from the time of his
graduation from Tübingen to his return from Bordeaux, almost the entire
period of his sane manhood. Unsuccessful in his first position as a
tutor, and unable, after having abandoned this, to provide even a meagre
living for himself with his pen, his migration to Frankfort to the house
of the merchant Gontard at last gave him a hope of better things, but a
hope which soon proved vain. Following close upon these disappointments
was his failure to carry out a project which he had long cherished, of
establishing a literary journal; then came his dismissal from a
situation which he had just entered upon in Switzerland. On his return
he wrote to Schiller for help and advice, and his failure to receive a
reply grieved him deeply. We can only surmise that it was a cruel
disappointment, finally, which caused his sudden departure from
Bordeaux, and brought him back a mental wreck to his mother's home. Even
as early as 1788 Hölderlin complains bitterly in the poem "Der Lorbeer,"
in which he eulogizes the poets Klopstock and Young and expresses his
own ambition to aspire to their greatness:
Schon so manche Früchte schöner Keime
Logen grausam mir ins Angesicht.[33]
As the years passed, this feeling of disappointment and disillusion
became more and more intense and bitter. A stanza from one of his more
mature poems (1795) "An die Natur," will serve to illustrate the
sentiment which pervades almost all his writings:
Tot ist nun, die mich erzog und stillte,
Tot ist nun die jugendliche Welt,
Diese Brust, die einst ein Himmel füllte,
Tot und dürftig wie ein Stoppelfeld;
Ach es singt der Frühling meinen Sorgen
Noch, wie einst, ein freundlich tröstend Lied,
Aber hin ist meines Lebens Morgen,
Meines Herzens Frühling ist verblüht.[34]
In close causal connection with Hölderlin's Weltschmerz is his belief
that his life is ruled by an inexorable fate whose plaything he is.
"Wenn hinfort mich das Schicksal ergreift, und von einem Abgrund in den
andern mich wirft, und alle Kräfte in mir ertränkt und alle Gedanken,"
Hyperion exclaims.[35] He goes even further, and conceives the idea of a
sacrifice to Fate. Thus he makes Alabanda say near the close of
"Hyperion:" "Ach! weil kein Glück ist ohne Opfer, nimm als Opfer mich, o
Schicksal an, und lass die Liebenden in ihrer Freude."[36] Wilhelm
Scherer calls attention to Gervinus' remark that new intellectual
tendencies which call for unaccustomed and unusual mental effort often
prove disastrous to single individuals, and says: "Hölderlin war also
ein Opfer der Erneuerung des deutschen Lebens--seltsam, wie der Gedanke
des Opfers als ein hoher und herrlicher ihn in allen seinen Gedichten
viel beschäftigt hat."[37] But the poet does not apply this fatalism
only to himself, to the individual; he widens its influence to humanity
in general. "Wir sprechen von unserm Herzen, unsern Planen, als wären
sie unser," says Hyperion, "und es ist doch eine fremde Gewalt, die uns
herumwirft und ins Grab legt, wie es ihr gefällt, und von der wir nicht
wissen, von wannen sie kommt, noch wohin sie geht:"[38] Perhaps nowhere
better than in Hyperion's "Schicksalslied" does he give poetic
expression to this thought. Omitting the first stanza it reads thus:
Schicksallos wie der schlafende
Säugling atmen die Himmlischen;
Keusch bewahrt
In bescheidener Knospe,
Blühet ewig
Ihnen der Geist,
Und die seligen Augen
Blicken in stiller
Ewiger Klarheit.
Doch uns ist gegeben,
Auf keiner Stätte zu ruhn,
Es schwinden, es fallen
Die leidenden Menschen
Blindlings von einer
Stunde zur andern,
Wie Wasser von Klippe
Zu Klippe geworfen,
Jahrlang ins Ungewisse hinab.[39]
The fundamental difference between Hölderlin's "Anschauung" and Goethe's
is at once apparent when we recall the "Lied der Parzen" from
"Iphigenie." Hölderlin does not bring the blessed Genii into any
relation with mortals, but merely contrasts their free and blissful
existence, emphasizing their immunity from Fate, to which suffering
humanity is subject. But this humanity is represented by Hölderlin
characteristically as helpless, passive--"schwinden," "fallen,"
"blindlings von einer Stunde zur andern." Whereas the opening lines of
Goethe's "Parzen" strike the keynote of _conflict_ between the gods and
men:
Es fürchte die Götter
Das Menschengeschlecht!
Sie halten die Herrschaft
In ewigen Händen
Und können sie brauchen
Wie's ihnen gefällt.
Der fürchte sie doppelt,
Den je sie erheben!
And those who come to grief at the hands of the gods, are not weak
passive creatures, but heaven-scaling Titans. This points to the
antipodal difference between the characters of these two poets, and
explains in part why Goethe did not succumb to the sickly sentimentalism
of which he rid himself in "Werther." The difference between yielding
and striving resulted in the difference between an acute case of
Weltschmerz in the one and a healthy physical and intellectual manhood
in the other.
Thus far it has been almost entirely the personal aspect of Hölderlin's
Weltschmerz and its causes that has come under our notice. And since he
was a lyric poet, it is perhaps natural that the sorrows which concerned
him personally should find most frequent expression in his verse. But
notwithstanding the fact that this personal element is very prominent in
Hölderlin's writings, Scherer's judgment is correct when he states: "Die
Grundstimmung war eine tiefe Verbitterung gegen die Versunkenheit des
Vaterlands."[40] The reason is not far to seek, especially when we
consider the impossible demands of the poet's extravagant idealism. The
conditions in Germany which had called forth the terrible arraignment of
petty despotism, crushing militarism, and political rottenness
generally, in the works of Lenz, Klinger and Schubart, had not abated.
Schubart was one of Hölderlin's earliest favorites, so that the latter
was doubtless in this way imbued with sentiments which could only grow
stronger under the influence of his more mature observations and
experiences. Even in his eighteenth year, in a poem "An die Demut,"[41]
he gives expression in strong terms to his patriotic feelings, in which
his disgust with his faint-hearted, servile compatriots and his defiance
of "Fürstenlaune" and "Despotenblut" are plainly evident. So too in
"Männerjubel," 1788:
Es glimmt in uns ein Funke der Göttlichen!
Und diesen Funken soll aus der Männerbrust
Der Hölle Macht uns nicht entreissen!
Hört es, Despotengerichte, hört es![42]
Perhaps nowhere outside of his own Württemberg could he have been more
unfavorably situated in this respect. Under Karl Eugen (1744-1793) the
country sank into a deplorable condition. Regardless of the rights of
individuals and communities alike, he sought in the early part of his
reign to replenish his depleted purse by the most shameless measures, in
order that he might surround himself with luxury and indulge his
autocratic proclivities. Among his most reprehensible violations of
constitutional rights, were his bartering of privileges and offices and
the selling of troops. These things Hölderlin attacks in one of his
youthful poems "Die Ehrsucht" (1788):
Um wie Könige zu prahlen, schänden
Kleine Wütriche ihr armes Land;
Und um feile Ordensbänder wenden
Räte sich das Ruder aus der Hand.[43]
Another act of gross injustice which this petty tyrant perpetrated, and
which Hölderlin must have felt very painfully, was the incarceration of
the poet's countryman Schubart from 1777 to 1787 in the Hohenasperg. But
not only from within came tyrannous oppression. Following upon the
coalition against France after the Revolution, Württemberg became the
scene of bloody conflicts and the ravages of war. Under the regime of
Friedrich Eugen (1795-97) the French gained such a foothold in
Württemberg that the country had to pay a contribution of four million
gulden to get rid of them. These were the conditions under which
Hölderlin grew up into young manhood. But deeper than in the mere
existence of these conditions themselves lay the cause of the poet's
most abject humiliation and grief. It was the stoic indifference, the
servile submission with which he charged his compatriots, that called
forth his bitterest invectives upon their insensible heads. His own
words will serve best to show the intensity of his feelings. In 1788 he
writes, in the poem "Am Tage der Freundschaftsfeier:"
Da sah er (der Schwärmer) all die Schande
Der weichlichen Teutonssöhne,
Und fluchte dem verderblichen Ausland
Und fluchte den verdorbenen Affen des Auslands,
Und weinte blutige Thränen,
Dass er vielleicht noch lange
Verweilen müsse unter diesem Geschlecht.[44]
Ten years later he treats the Germans to the following ignominious
comparison:
Spottet ja nicht des Kinds, wenn es mit Peitsch' und Sporn
Auf dem Rosse von Holz, mutig und gross sich dünkt.
Denn, ihr Deutschen, auch ihr seid
Thatenarm und gedankenvoll.[45]
With his friend Sinclair, who was sent as a delegate, he attended the
congress at Rastatt in November, 1798, and here he made observations
which no doubt resulted in the bitter characterization of his nation in
the closing letters of Hyperion. This convention, whose chief object was
the compensation of those German princes who had been dispossessed by
the cessions to France on the left bank of the Rhine, afforded a
spectacle so humiliating that it would have bowed down in shame a spirit
even less proud and sensitive than Hölderlin's. The French emissaries
conducted themselves like lords of Germany, while the German princes
vied with each other in acts of servility and submission to the arrogant
Frenchmen. And it was the apathy of the average German, as Hölderlin
conceived it, toward these and other national indignities, that caused
him to put such bitter words of contumely into the mouth of Hyperion:
"Barbaren von Alters her, durch Fleiss und Wissenschaft und selbst durch
Religion barbarischer geworden, tief unfähig jedes göttlichen
Gefühls--beleidigend für jede gut geartete Seele, dumpf und harmonielos,
wie die Scherben eines weggeworfenen Gefässes--das, mein Bellarmin!
waren meine Tröster."[46] In another letter Hyperion explains their
incapacity for finer feeling and appreciation when he writes: "Neide die
Leidensfreien nicht, die Götzen von Holz, denen nichts mangelt, weil
ihre Seele so arm ist, die nichts fragen nach Regen und Sonnenschein,
weil sie nichts haben, was der Pflege bedürfte. Ja, ja, es ist recht
sehr leicht, glücklich, ruhig zu sein mit seichtem Herzen und
eingeschränktem Geiste."[47] Their work he characterizes as
"Stümperarbeit," and their virtues as brilliant evils and nothing more.
There is nothing sacred, he claims, that has not been desecrated by this
nation. But it is chiefly his own experience which he recites, when, in
speaking of the sad plight of German poets, of those who still love the
beautiful, he says: "Es ist auch herzzerreissend, wenn man eure Dichter,
eure Künstler sieht--die Guten, sie leben in der Welt, wie Fremdlinge im
eigenen Hause."[48] Still more extravagantly does the poet caricature
his own people when he writes: "Wenn doch einmal diesen Gottverlassnen
einer sagte, dass bei ihnen nur so unvollkommen alles ist, weil sie
nichts Reines unverdorben, nichts Heiliges unbetastet lassen mit den
plumpen Händen--dass bei ihnen eigentlich das Leben schaal und
sorgenschwer ist, weil sie den Genius verschmähen--und darum fürchten
sie auch den Tod so sehr, und leiden um des Austernlebens willen alle
Schmach, weil Höhres sie nicht kennen, als ihr Machwerk, das sie sich
gestoppelt."[49]
But we should get an extremely unjust and one-sided idea of Hölderlin's
attitude toward his country from these quotations alone. The point which
they illustrate is his growing estrangement from his own people, which
in the very nature of the case must have had an important bearing upon
his Weltschmerz. But his feelings in regard to Germany and the Germans
were not all contempt. In many of his poems there is the true patriotic
ring. It is true, we can nowhere find any clear political program,
neither could we expect one from a poet who was so absorbed in his own
feelings, and whose ideals soared so high above the sphere of practical
politics. In this too Hölderlin was the product of previous influences.
With all their clamor for political upheavals, the "Stürmer und Dränger"
never arrived at any serious or practical plan of action.
Notwithstanding all this, the word Vaterland was always an inspiration
to Hölderlin, and it is especially gratifying to note that the calumny
which he heaps upon the devoted heads of the Germans is not his last
word on the subject. Nor did he ever lose sight of his lofty ideal of
liberty for his degraded fatherland or cease to hope for its
realization. In this strain he concludes the "Hymne an die Freiheit"
(1790) with a splendid outburst of patriotic enthusiasm:
Dann am süssen, heisserrung'nen Ziele,
Wenn der Ernte grosser Tag beginnt,
Wenn verödet die Tyrannenstühle,
Die Tyrannenknechte Moder sind,
Wenn im Heldenbunde meiner Brüder
Deutsches Blut und deutsche Liebe glüht,
Dann, O Himmelstochter! sing ich wieder,
Singe sterbend dir das letzte Lied.[50]
What a remarkable change is noticeable in the tone which the poet
assumes toward his country in the lines "Gesang des Deutschen," written
in 1799, probably after the completion of his "Hyperion":
O heilig Herz der Völker, O Vaterland!
Allduldend gleich der schweigenden Muttererd'
Und allverkannt, wenn schon aus deiner
Tiefe die Fremden ihr Bestes haben.
Du Land des hohen, ernsteren Genius!
Du Land der Liebe! bin ich der Deine schon,
Oft zürnt' ich weinend, dass du immer
Blöde die eigene Seele leugnest.[51]
How much the reproach has been softened, and with what tender regard he
strives to mollify his former bitterness! To this change in his
feelings, his sojourn in strange places and the attendant
discouragements and disappointments seem to have contributed not a
little, for in the poem "Rückkehr in die Heimat," written in 1800, the
contempt of "Hyperion" has been replaced by compassion. He sees himself
and his country linked together in the sacred companionship of
suffering, consequently it can no longer be the object of his scorn.
Wie lange ist's, O wie lange! des Kindes Ruh'
Ist hin, und hin ist Jugend, und Lieb' und Glück,
Doch du, mein Vaterland! du heilig
Duldendes! siehe, du bist geblieben.[52]
But the fact remains, nevertheless, that Hölderlin from his early youth
felt himself a stranger in his own land and among his own people. Some
of the causes of this circumstance have already been discussed. The fact
itself is important because it establishes the connection between his
Weltschmerz and his most noteworthy characteristic as a poet, namely,
his Hellenism. No other German poet has allowed himself to be so
completely dominated by the Greek idea as did Hölderlin. And in his case
it may properly be called a symptom of his Weltschmerz, for it marks his
flight from the world of stern reality into an imaginary world of Greek
ideals. An imaginary Greek world, because in spite of his Hellenic
enthusiasm he entertained some of the most un-Hellenic ideas and
feelings.
That the poet should take refuge in Greek antiquity is not surprising,
when we consider the conditions which prevailed at that time in the
field of learning. It was not many decades since the study of Latin and
Roman institutions had been forced to yield preëminence of position in
Germany to the study of Greek. Furthermore, his own Suabia had come to
be recognized as a leader in the study of Greek antiquity, and in his
contemporaries Schiller, Hegel, Schelling, who were all countrymen and
acquaintances of his, he found worthy competitors in this branch of
learning. His fondness for the language and literature of Greece goes
back to his early school days, especially at Denkendorf and Maulbronn.
On leaving the latter school, he had the reputation among his
fellow-students of being an excellent Hellenist, according to the report
of Schwab, his biographer. It was while there that Hölderlin as a boy
of seventeen first made use of the Alcaic measure in which he
subsequently wrote so many of his poems.
A full discussion of the technic of Hölderlin's poems would have so
remote a connection with the main topic under consideration that its
introduction here would be entirely out of place. It will suffice,
therefore, merely to indicate along broad lines the extent to which the
Greek idea took and held possession of the poet.
Out of his 168 shorter poems, 126, exactly three-fourths, are written in
the unrhymed Greek measures.[53] Those forms which are native are
confined almost entirely to his juvenile and youthful compositions, and
after 1797 he only once employs the rhymed stanza, namely, in the poem
"An Landauer."[54] As a boy of sixteen, he wrote verses in the Alcaic
and Asclepiadeian measures,[55] and soon acquired a considerable mastery
over them. At seventeen he composed in the latter form his poem "An
meine Freundinnen:"
In der Stille der Nacht denket an euch mein Lied,
Wo mein ewiger Gram jeglichen Stundenschlag,
Welcher näher mich bringt dem
Trauten Grabe, mit Dank begrüsst.[56]
While not exhibiting the finish of expression and musical qualities of
his more mature Alcaic lyrics, still it is not bad poetry for a boy of
seventeen, and the reader feels what the boy was not slow to learn, that
the stately movement of the Greek stanzas lends an added dignity to the
expression of sorrow, which was to constitute so large a part of his
poetic activity. As already stated, the Alcaic measure was of all the
Greek verse-forms Hölderlin's favorite, and the one most frequently and
successfully employed by him. He is very fond of introducing Germanic
alliteration into these unrhymed stanzas, as the following example will
illustrate:
Und wo sind Dichter, denen der Gott es gab,
Wie unsern Alten, freundlich und fromm zu sein,
Wo Weise, wie die unsern sind, die
Kalten und Kühnen, die unbestechbarn?[57]
The Asclepiadeian stanza he employs much less frequently, the Sapphic
only once, and that with indifferent success. It was the ode, dithyramb
and hymn, the serious lyric, which Hölderlin selected as the models for
his poetic fashion. In this purpose he was not alone, for his friend
Neuffer writes to him in 1793, with an enthusiasm which in the intensity
of expression common at the time, seems almost like an inspiration: "Die
höhere Ode und der Hymnus, zwei in unsern Tagen, und vielleicht in allen
Zeitaltern am meisten vernachlässigte Musen! in ihre Arme wollen wir uns
werfen, von ihren Küssen beseelt uns aufraffen. Welche Aussichten! Dein
Hymnus an die Kühnheit mag Dir zum Motto dienen! Mir gehe die Hoffnung
voran."[58]
But it was in the form much more than in the contents of his poems, that
Hölderlin carried out the Greek idea. Most of his lyrics are occasional
poems, or have abstract subjects, as for example, "An die Stille," "An
die Ehre," "An den Genius der Kühnheit," and so on. Only here and there
does he take a classic subject or introduce classic references. The
truth of the matter is, that with all his fervid enthusiasm for Hellenic
ideals, and with all his Greek cult, Hölderlin was not the genuine
Hellenist he thought himself to be. This is due to the fact that his
turning to Greece was in its final analysis attributable rather to
selfish than to altruistic motives. He wanted to get away from the
deplorable realities about him, the things which hurt his tender soul,
and so he constructed for himself this idealized world of ancient and
modern Greece, and peopled it with his own creations.
In Hölderlin's "Hyperion," we have the first poetic work in German which
takes modern Greece as its locality and a modern Hellene as its hero.
Hölderlin calls it "ein Roman," but it would be rather inaccurately
described by the usual translation of that term. It is not only the
poetic climax of his Hellenism, but also the most complete expression of
his Weltschmerz in its various phases. It must naturally be both, for
the poet and the hero are one. He speaks of it as "mein Werkchen, in dem
ich lebe und webe."[59] Its subject is the emancipation of Greece. What
little action is narrated may be very briefly indicated. Russia is at
war with Turkey and calls upon Hellas to liberate itself. The hero and
his friend Alabanda are at the head of a band of volunteers, fighting
the Turks. After several minor successes Hyperion lays siege to the
Spartan fortress of Misitra. But at its capitulation, he is undeceived
concerning the Hellenic patriots; they ravage and plunder so fiercely
that he turns from them with repugnance and both he and Alabanda abandon
the cause of liberty which they had championed. To his bride Hyperion
had promised a redeemed Greece--a lament is all that he can bring her.
She dies, Hyperion comes to Germany where his aesthetic Greek soul is
severely jarred by the sordidness, apathy and insensibility of these
"barbarians." Returning to the Isthmus, he becomes a hermit and writes
his letters to Bellarmin, no less "thatenarm und gedankenvoll" himself
than his unfortunate countrymen whom he so characterizes.[60]
"Hyperion," though written in prose, is scarcely anything more than a
long drawn out lyric poem, so thoroughly is action subordinated to
reflection, and so beautiful and rhythmic is the dignified flow of its
periods. But having said that the locality is Greece and its hero is
supposed to be a modern Greek, that in its scenic descriptions Hölderlin
produces some wonderfully natural effects, and that the language shows
the imitation of Greek turns of expression--Homeric epithets and
similes--having said this, we have mentioned practically all the Greek
characteristics of the composition. And there is much in it that is
entirely un-Hellenic. To begin with, the form in which "Hyperion" is
cast, that of letters, written not even during the progress of the
events narrated, but after they are all a thing of the past, is not at
all a Greek idea. Moreover Weltschmerz, which constitutes the
"Grundstimmung" of all Hölderlin's writings, and which is most plainly
and persistently expressed in "Hyperion," is not Hellenic. Not that we
should have to look in vain for pessimistic utterances from the
classical poets of Greece--for does not Sophocles make the deliberate
statement: "Not to be born is the most reasonable, but having seen the
light, the next best thing is to go to the place whence we came as soon
as possible."[61] Nevertheless, this sort of sentiment cannot be
regarded as representing the spirit of the ancient Greeks, which was
distinctly optimistic. They were happy in their worship of beauty in art
and in nature, and above all, happy in their creativeness. The question
suggests itself here, whether a poet can ever be a genuine pessimist,
since he has within him the everlasting impulse to create. And to create
is to hope. Hyperion himself says: "Es lebte nichts, wenn es nicht
hoffte."[62] But we have already distinguished between pessimism as a
system of philosophy, and Weltschmerz as a poetic mood.[63] It is
certainly un-Hellenic that Hölderlin allows Hyperion with his alleged
Greek nature to sink into contemplative inactivity. In the poem "Der
Lorbeer," 1789, he exclaims:
Soll ewiges Trauern mich umwittern,
Ewig mich töten die bange Sehnsucht?[64]
which gives expression to the fact that in his Weltschmerz there was a
very large admixture of "Sehnsucht," an entirely un-Hellenic feeling.
Nor is there to be found in his entire make-up the slightest trace of
Greek irony, which would have enabled him to overcome much of the
bitterness of his life, and which might indeed have averted its final
catastrophe.
Undeniably Grecian is Hölderlin's idea that the beautiful is also the
good. Long years he sought for this combined ideal. In Diotima, the muse
of his "Hyperion," whose prototype was Susette Gontard, he has found
it--and now he feels that he is in a new world. To his friend Neuffer,
from whom he has no secrets, he writes: "Ich konnte wohl sonst glauben,
ich wisse, was schön und gut sei, aber seit ich's sehe, möcht' ich
lachen über all mein Wissen. Lieblichkeit und Hoheit, und Ruh und
Leben, und Geist und Gemüt und Gestalt ist Ein seeliges Eins in diesem
Wesen."[65] And six or eight months later: "Mein Schönheitsinn ist nun
vor Störung sicher. Er orientiert sich ewig an diesem Madonnenkopfe....
Sie ist schön wie Engel! Ein zartes, geistiges, himmlisch reizendes
Gesicht! Ach ich könnte ein Jahrtausend lang mich und alles vergessen
bei ihr--Majestät und Zärtlichkeit, und Fröhlichkeit und Ernst--und
Leben und Geist, alles ist in und an ihr zu einem göttlichen Ganzen
vereint."[66] It would be difficult to conceive of a more complete and
sublime eulogy of any object of affection than the words just quoted,
and yet they do not conceal their author's etherial quality of thought,
his "Uebersinnlichkeit." Even his boyish love-affairs seem to have been
largely of this character, and were in all likelihood due to the
necessity which he felt of bestowing his affection somewhere, rather
than to irresistible forces proceeding from the objects of his regard.
Lack of self-restraint, so often characteristic of the poet of
Weltschmerz, was not Hölderlin's greatest fault. And yet if his intense
devotion to Susette remained undebased by sensual desires, as we know it
did, this was not solely due to the practice of heroic self-restraint,
but must be attributed in part to the fact that that side of his nature
was entirely subordinate to his higher ideals; and these were always a
stronger passion with Hölderlin than his love. So that Diotima's
judgment of Hyperion is correct when she says: "O es ist so ganz
natürlich, dass Du nimmer lieben willst, weil Deine grössern Wünsche
verschmachten."[67] This consideration at once compels a comparison with
Lenau, which must be deferred, however, until the succeeding chapter.
Undoubtedly this year and a half at Frankfurt was the happiest period of
his whole life. It brought him a serenity of mind which he had never
before known. Ardent was the response called forth by his devotion, but
its influence was wholesome--it was soothing to his sensitive nerves.
And because it was altogether more a sublime than an earthly passion, he
indulged himself in it with a conscience void of offence. Doubtless he
correctly describes the influence of his relations with Diotima upon his
life when he writes: "Ich sage Dir, lieber Neuffer! ich bin auf dem
Wege, ein recht guter Knabe zu werden.... mein Herz ist voll Lust, und
wenn das heilige Schicksal mir mein glücklich Leben erhält, so hoff' ich
künftig mehr zu thun als bisher."[68] But the happy life was not to
continue long. Rudely the cup was dashed from his lips, and the poet's
pain intensified by one more disappointment--the bitterest of all he had
experienced. It filled him with thoughts of revenge, which he was
powerless to execute. There can be no question that if his love for
Susette had been of a less etherial order, less a thing of the soul, he
would have felt much less bitterly her husband's violent interference.
But returning to the poem "Hyperion," for as such we may regard it, we
find in it the most complete expression of the attitude which the poet,
in his Weltschmerz, assumed toward nature. Nature is his constant
companion, mother, comforter in sorrow, in his brighter moments his
deity. This nature-worship, which speedily develops into a more or less
consistent pantheism, Hölderlin expresses in Hyperion's second letter,
in the following creed: "Eines zu sein mit allem, was lebt, in seliger
Selbstvergessenheit wiederzukehren ins All der Natur, das ist der Gipfel
der Gedanken und Freuden, das ist die heilige Bergeshöhe, der Ort der
ewigen Ruhe."[69] And so nature is to Hölderlin always intensely real
and personal. The sea is youthful, full of exuberant joy; the
mountain-tops are hopeful and serene; with shouts of joy the stream
hurls itself like a giant down into the forests. Here and there his
personification of nature becomes even more striking: "O das Morgenlicht
und ich, wir gingen uns entgegen, wie versöhnte Freunde."[70] Still more
intense is this feeling of personal intimacy, when he exclaims: "O
selige Natur! ich weiss nicht, wie mir geschiehet, wenn ich mein Auge
erhebe von deiner Schöne, aber alle Lust des Himmels ist in den Thränen,
die ich weine vor dir, der Geliebte vor der Geliebten."[71] It is
important for purposes of comparison, to note that notwithstanding his
intense Weltschmerz, in his treatment of nature Hölderlin does not
select only its gloomy or terrible aspects. Light and shade alternate in
his descriptions, and only here and there is the background entirely
unrelieved. The thunderstorm is to him a dispenser of divine energies
among forest and field, even the seasons of decline and decay are not
left without sunshine: "auf der stummen entblätterten Landschaft, wo der
Himmel schöner als je, mit Wolken und Sonnenschein um die herbstlich
schlafenden Bäume spielte."[72] One passage in "Hyperion" bears so
striking a resemblance, however, to Lenau's characteristic
nature-pictures, that it shall be given in full--although even here,
when the gloom of his sorrow and disappointment was steadily deepening,
he does not fail to derive comfort from the warm sunshine, a thought for
which we should probably look in vain, had Lenau painted the picture:
"Ich sass mit Alabanda auf einem Hügel der Gegend, in lieblich wärmender
Sonn', und um uns spielte der Wind mit abgefallenem Laube. Das Land war
stumm; nur hie und da ertönte im Wald ein stürzender Baum, vom Landmann
gefällt, und neben uns murmelte der vergängliche Regenbach hinab ins
ruhige Meer."[73]
In spite of his deep and persistent Weltschmerz, Hölderlin rarely gives
expression to a longing for death. This forms so prominent a feature in
the thought of other types of Weltschmerz, for instance of Lenau and of
Leopardi, that its absence here cannot fail to be noticed. It is true
that in his dramatic poem "Der Tod des Empedokles," which symbolizes the
closing of his account with the world, Hölderlin causes his hero to
return voluntarily to nature by plunging into the fiery crater of Mount
Etna. But Empedokles does this to atone for past sin, not merely to rid
himself of the pain of living; and thus, even as a poetic idea, it
impresses us very differently from the continual yearning for death
which pervades the writings of the two poets just mentioned. Leopardi
declared that it were best never to see the light, but denounced suicide
as a cowardly act of selfishness; and yet at the approach of an
epidemic of cholera, he clung so tenaciously to life that he urged a
hurried departure from Naples, regardless of the hardships of such a
journey in his feeble condition, and took refuge in a little villa near
Vesuvius. Hölderlin's Weltschmerz was absolutely sincere.
Numerous passages might be quoted to show that Hölderlin's mind was
intensely introspective. This is true also of Lenau, even to a greater
extent, and may be taken as generally characteristic of poets of this
type. The fact that this introspection is an inevitable symptom in many
mental derangements, hypochondria, melancholia and others, indicates a
not very remote relation of Weltschmerz to insanity. In Hölderlin's
poems there are not a few premonitions of the sad fate which awaited
him. One illustration from the poem "An die Hoffnung," 1801, may
suffice:
Wo bist du? wenig lebt' ich, doch atmet kalt
Mein Abend schon. Und stille, den Schatten gleich,
Bin ich schon hier; und schon gesanglos
Schlummert das schau'rende Herz im Busen.[74]
It is impossible to read these lines without feeling something of the
cold chill of the heart that Hölderlin felt was already upon him, and
which he expresses in a manner so intensely realistic and yet so
beautiful.
Having thus attempted a review of the growth of Hölderlin's Weltschmerz
and of its chief characteristics, it merely remains to conclude the
chapter with a brief resume. We have then in Friedrich Hölderlin a youth
peculiarly predisposed to feel himself isolated from and repelled by the
world, growing up without a strong fatherly hand to guide, giving
himself over more and more to solitude and so becoming continually less
able to cope with untoward circumstances and conditions. Growing into
manhood, he was unfortunate in all his love-affairs and as though doomed
to unceasing disappointments. Early in life he devoted himself to the
study of antiquity, making Greece his hobby, and thus creating for
himself an ideal world which existed only in his imagination, and taking
refuge in it from the buffetings of the world about him. He was a man
of a deeply philosophical trend of mind, and while not often speaking of
it, felt very keenly the humiliating condition of Germany, although his
patriotic enthusiasm found its artistic expression not with reference to
Germany but to Greece. As a poet, finally, his intimacy with nature was
such that nature-worship and pantheism became his religion.
In reviewing the whole range of Hölderlin's writings, we cannot avoid
the conclusion, that in him we have a type of Weltschmerz in the
broadest sense of the term; we might almost term it Byronism, with the
sensual element eliminated. He shows the hypersensitiveness of Werther,
fanatical enthusiasm for a vague ideal of liberty, vehement opposition
to existing social and political conditions; there is, in fact, a
breadth in his Weltschmerz, which makes the sorrows of Werther seem very
highly specialized in comparison. Bearing in mind the distinction made
between the two classes, we must designate Hölderlin's Weltschmerz as
cosmic rather than egoistic; the egoistic element is there, but it is
outweighed by the cosmic and finds its poetic expression not so
frequently nor so intensely with reference to the poet himself, as with
reference to mankind at large.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 12: _Anz. f. d. Alt._, vol. 22, p. 212-218.]
[Footnote 13: In a letter to his mother he writes: "Freilich ist's mir
auch angeboren, dass ich alles schwerer zu Herzen nehme." ("Friedrich
Hölderlins Leben, in Briefen von und an Hölderlin, von Carl C.T.
Litzmann," Berlin, 1890, p. 27. Hereafter quoted as "Briefe.").]
[Footnote 14: "Hölderlins gesammelte Dichtungen, herausgegeben von B.
Litzmann," Stuttgart, Cotta (hereafter quoted as "Werke"). Vol. II, p.
9.]
[Footnote 15: It is a reminiscence of Hölderlin's boyhood which finds
expression in the words of Hyperion: "Ich war aufgewachsen, wie eine
Rebe ohne Stab, und die wilden Ranken breiteten richtungslos über dem
Boden sich aus." Werke, Vol. II, p. 72.]
[Footnote 16: Werke, Vol. I, p. 86.]
[Footnote 17: Werke, Vol. I, p. 36.]
[Footnote 18: "Auf einer Heide geschrieben," Werke, Vol. I, p. 44.]
[Footnote 19: Briefe, p. 27.]
[Footnote 20: Briefe, p. 29.]
[Footnote 21: Werke, Vol. I, p. 53 f.]
[Footnote 22: Briefe, p. 36.]
[Footnote 23: Briefe, p. 120.]
[Footnote 24: "Mein Vorsatz," Werke, Vol. I, p. 44.]
[Footnote 25: Werke, Vol. II, p. 69.]
[Footnote 26: Werke, Vol. II, p. 90.]
[Footnote 27: Werke, Vol. II, p. 86.]
[Footnote 28: Briefe, p. 49.]
[Footnote 29: Briefe, p. 50.]
[Footnote 30: Werke, Vol. I, p. 74.]
[Footnote 31: "Friedrich Hölderlin, Eine Studie," _Preuss. Jahrb._,
1866, p. 548-568.]
[Footnote 32: _Anz. f. d. Altertum_, Vol. 22, p. 212-218.]
[Footnote 33: Werke, Vol. I, p. 75.]
[Footnote 34: Werke, Vol. I, p. 146.]
[Footnote 35: Werke, Vol. II, p. 107.]
[Footnote 36: Werke, Vol. II, p. 188.]
[Footnote 37: "Vorträge und Aufsätze," 1874, Fried. Hölderlin, p. 354.]
[Footnote 38: Werke, Vol. II, p. 96.]
[Footnote 39: Werke, Vol. II, p. 189.]
[Footnote 40: Cf. op. cit., p. 352.]
[Footnote 41: Werke, Vol. I, p. 51.]
[Footnote 42: Werke, Vol. I, p. 50.]
[Footnote 43: Werke, Vol. I, p. 49.]
[Footnote 44: Werke, Vol. I, p. 66.]
[Footnote 45: Werke, Vol. I, p. 165.]
[Footnote 46: Werke, Vol. II, p. 198.]
[Footnote 47: Werke, Vol. II, p. 97.]
[Footnote 48: Werke, Vol. II, p. 200.]
[Footnote 49: Werke, Vol. II, p. 200 f.]
[Footnote 50: Werke, Vol. I, p. 105.]
[Footnote 51: Werke, Vol. I, p. 196.]
[Footnote 52: Werke, Vol. I, p. 214.]
[Footnote 53: Werke, Vol. I.]
[Footnote 54: Werke, Vol. I, p. 234.]
[Footnote 55: "An die Nachtigall," "An meinen Bilfinger," Werke, Vol. I,
p. 42f.]
[Footnote 56: Werke, Vol. I, p. 43.]
[Footnote 57: Werke, Vol. I, p. 197.]
[Footnote 58: Briefe, p. 160.]
[Footnote 59: Briefe, p. 162.]
[Footnote 60: Cf. _supra_, p. 22.]
[Footnote 61: "Oedipus Coloneus," 1225 seq.]
[Footnote 62: Werke, Vol. II, p. 81.]
[Footnote 63: Cf. Introduction, p. 1 f.]
[Footnote 64: Werke, Vol. I, p. 89.]
[Footnote 65: Briefe, p. 382 f.]
[Footnote 66: Briefe, p. 403-405.]
[Footnote 67: Werke, Vol. II, p. 175.]
[Footnote 68: Briefe, p. 404.]
[Footnote 69: Werke, Vol. II, p. 68.]
[Footnote 70: Werke, Vol. II, p. 100.]
[Footnote 71: Werke, Vol. II, p. 68.]
[Footnote 72: Werke, Vol. II, p. 85.]
[Footnote 73: Werke, Vol. II, p. 181.]
[Footnote 74: Werke, Vol. I, p. 253.]