=Lenau=
If Hölderlin's Weltschmerz has been fittingly characterized as
idealistic, Lenau's on the other hand may appropriately be termed the
naturalistic type. He is par excellence the "Pathetiker" of Weltschmerz.
Without presuming even to attempt a final solution of a problem of
pathology concerning which specialists have failed to agree, there seems
to be sufficient circumstantial as well as direct evidence to warrant
the assumption that Lenau's case presents an instance of hereditary
taint. Notwithstanding the fact that Dr. Karl Weiler[75] discredits the
idea of "erbliche Belastung" and calls heredity "den vielgerittenen
Verlegenheitsgaul," the conclusion forces itself upon us that if the
theory has any scientific value whatsoever, no more plausible instance
of it could be found than the one under consideration. The poet's
great-grandfather and grandfather had been officers in the Austrian
army, the latter with some considerable distinction. Of his five
children, only Franz, the poet's father, survived. The complete lack of
anything like a systematic education, and the nomadic life of the army
did not fail to produce the most disastrous results in the wild and
dissolute character of the young man. Even before the birth of the poet,
his father had broken his marriage vows and his wife's heart by his
abominable dissipations and drunkenness. Lenau was but five years old
when his father, not yet thirty-five, died of a disease which he is
believed to have contracted as a result of these sensual and senseless
excesses. To the poet he bequeathed something of his own pathological
sensuality, instability of thought and action, lack of will-energy, and
the tears of a heartbroken mother, a sufficient guarantee, surely, of a
poet of melancholy. Even though we cannot avoid the reflection that the
loss of such a father was a blessing in disguise, the fact remains that
Lenau during his childhood and youth needed paternal guidance and
training even more than did Hölderlin. He became the idol of his mother,
who in her blind devotion did not hesitate to show him the utmost
partiality in all things. This important fact alone must account to a
large extent for that presumptuous pride, which led him to expect
perhaps more than his just share from life and from the world.
Lenau's aimlessness and instability were so extreme that they may
properly be counted a pathological trait. It is best illustrated by his
university career. In 1819 he went to Vienna to commence his studies.
Beginning with Philosophy, he soon transferred his interests to Law,
first Hungarian, then German; finding the study of Law entirely unsuited
to his tastes, he now declared his intention of pursuing once more a
philosophical course, with a view to an eventual professorship. But this
plan was frustrated by his grandmother, the upshot of it all being that
Lenau allowed himself to be persuaded to take up the study of
agriculture at Altenburg. But a few months sufficed to bring him back to
Vienna. Here his legal studies, which he had resumed and almost
completed, were interrupted by a severe affection of the throat which
developed into laryngitis and from which he never quite recovered. This
too, according to Dr. Sadger,[76] marks the neurasthenic, and often
constitutes a hereditary taint. Lenau thereupon shifted once more and
entered upon a medical course, this time not absolutely without
predilection. He did himself no small credit in his medical
examinations, but the death of his grandmother, just before his intended
graduation, provided a sufficient excuse for him to discontinue the
work, which was never again resumed or brought to a conclusion. But not
only in matters of such relative importance did Lenau exhibit this
vacillation. There was a spirit of restlessness in him which made it
impossible for him to remain long in the same place. Of this condition
no one was more fully aware than he himself. In one of his letters he
writes: "Gestern hat jemand berechnet, wieviel Poststunden ich in zwei
Monaten gefahren bin, und es ergab sich die kolossale Summe von 644, die
ich im Eilwagen unter beständiger Gemütsbewegung gefahren bin."[77] That
this habit of almost incessant travel tended to aggravate his nervous
condition is a fair supposition, notwithstanding the fact that Dr. Karl
Weiler[78] skeptically asks "what about commercial travellers?" Lenau
himself complains frequently of the distressing effect of such journeys:
"Ein heftiger Kopfschmerz und grosse Müdigkeit waren die Folgen der von
Linz an unausgesetzten Reise im Eilwagen bei schlechtem Wetter und
abmüdenden Gedanken an meine Zukunft."[79] Many similar Statements might
be quoted from his letters to show that it was not merely the ordinary
process of traveling, though that at best must have been trying enough,
but the breathless haste of his journeys, combined with mental anxiety,
which usually characterized them, that made them so detrimental to his
health.
It is as interesting as it is significant to note in this connection the
fact that while on a journey to Munich, just a short time before the
light of his intellect failed, Lenau wrote the following lines, the last
but one of all his poems:
's ist eitel nichts, wohin mein Aug' ich hefte!
Das Leben ist ein vielbesagtes Wandern,
Ein wüstes Jagen ist's von dem zum andern,
Und unterwegs verlieren wir die Kräfte.
Doch trägt uns eine Macht von Stund zu Stund,
Wie's Krüglein, das am Brunnenstein zersprang,
Und dessen Inhalt sickert auf den Grund,
So weit es ging, den ganzen Weg entlang,--
Nun ist es leer. Wer mag daraus noch trinken?
Und zu den andern Scherben muss es sinken.[80]
Hölderlin also uses the striking figure contained in the last line, not
however as here to picture the worthlessness of human life in general,
but to stigmatize the Germans, whom Hyperion describes as "dumpf und
harmonielos, wie die Scherben eines weggeworfenen Gefässes."[81]
That Lenau was a neurasthenic seems to be the consensus of opinion, at
least of those medical authorities who have given their views of the
case to the public.[82] This fact also has an important bearing upon our
discussion, since it will help to show a materially different origin for
Lenau's Weltschmerz and Hölderlin's.
Much more frequent than in the case of the latter are the ominous
forebodings of impending disaster which characterize Lenau's poems and
correspondence. In a letter to his friend Karl Mayer he writes: "Mich
regiert eine Art Gravitation nach dem Unglücke. Schwab hat einmal von
einem Wahnsinnigen sehr geistreich gesprochen.... Ein Analogon von
solchem Dämon (des Wahnsinns) glaub' ich auch in mir zu
beherbergen."[83] He is continually engaged in a gruesome
self-diagnosis: "Dann ist mir zuweilen, als hielte der Teufel seine Jagd
in dem Nervenwalde meines Unterleibes: ich höre ein deutliches
Hundegebell daselbst und ein dumpfes Halloh des Schwarzen. Ohne Scherz;
es ist oft zum Verzweifeln."[84] This process of self-diagnosis may be
due in part to his medical studies, but much more, we think, to his
morbid imagination, which led him, on more than one occasion, to play
the madman in so realistic a manner that strangers were frightened out
of their wits and even his friends became alarmed, lest it might be
earnest and not jest which they were witnessing.
Lenau was not without a certain sense of humor, grim humor though it
was, and here and there in his letters there is an admixture of levity
with the all-pervading melancholy. An example may be quoted from a
letter to Kerner in Weinsberg, dated 1832: "Heute bin ich wieder bei
Reinbecks auf ein grosses Spargelessen. Spargel wie Kirchthürme werden
da gefressen. Ich allein verschlinge 50-60 solcher Kirchthürme und
komme mir dabei vor, wie eine Parodie unserer politisch-prosaischen,
durchaus unheiligen Zeit, die auch schon das Maul aufsperrt, um alles
Heilige, und namentlich die guten gläubigen Kirchthürme wie
Spargelstangen zu verschlingen." The letter concludes with the
signature: "Ich umarme Dich, bis Dir die Rippen krachen. Dein
Niembsch."[85] Not infrequently this humor was at his own expense,
especially when describing an unpleasant condition or situation, as for
example in a letter to Sophie Löwenthal in the year 1844: "Jetzt lebe
ich hier in Saus und Braus,--d. h. es saust und braust mir der Kopf von
einem leidigen Schnupfen."[86] Again, on finding himself on one occasion
very unwell and uncomfortable in Stuttgart, he writes as follows:
"Beständiges Unwohlsein, Kopfschmerz, Schlaflosigkeit, Mattigkeit,
schlechte Verdauung, Rhabarber, Druckfehler, und Aerger über den trägen
Fortschlich meiner Geschäfte, das waren die Freuden meiner letzten
Woche. Emilie will es nicht gelten lassen, dass die Stuttgarter Luft
nichts als die Ausdünstung des Teufels sei.--Ich schnappe nach Luft, wie
ein Spatz unter der Luftpumpe.--In vielen der hiesigen Strassen riecht
es am Ende auch lenzhaft, nämlich pestilenzhaft, und die guten
Stuttgarter merken das gar nicht; 'süss duftet die Heimat.'"[87] In his
fondness for bringing together the incongruous, for introducing the
element of surprise, and in the fact that his humor is almost always of
the impatient, disgruntled, cynical type, Lenau reminds us not a little
of Heine in his "Reisebilder" and some other prose works. Hölderlin, on
the other hand, may be said to have been utterly devoid of humor.
Lack of self-control, perhaps the most characteristic trait among men of
genius, was even more pronounced in Lenau than in Hölderlin. This shows
itself in the extreme irregularity of his habits of life. For instance,
it was his custom to work long past the midnight hour, and then take his
rest until nearly noon. He could never get his coffee quite strong
enough to suit him, although it was prepared almost in the form of a
concentrated tincture and he drank large quantities of it. He smoked to
excess, and the strongest cigars at that; in short, he seems to have
been entirely without regard for his physical condition. Or was it
perverseness which prompted him to prefer close confinement in his room
to the long walks which he ought to have taken for his health? Even his
recreation, which consisted chiefly in playing the violin, brought him
no nervous relaxation, for it is said that he would often play himself
into a state of extreme nervous excitement.
All these considerations corroborate the opinion of those who knew him
best, that his Weltschmerz, and eventually his insanity, had its origin
in a pathological condition. Indeed this was the poet's own view of the
case. In a letter to his brother-in-law, Anton Schurz, dated 1834, he
says: "Aber, lieber Bruder, die Hypochondrie schlägt bei mir immer
tiefere Wurzel. Es hilft alles nichts. Der gewisse innere Riss wird
immer tiefer und weiter. Es hilft alles nichts. Ich weiss, es liegt im
Körper; aber--aber--"[88] In its origin then, Lenau's Weltschmerz
differs altogether from that of Hölderlin, who exhibits no such symptoms
of neurasthenia.
Lenau's nervous condition was seriously aggravated at an early date by
the outcome of his unfortunate relations with the object of his first
love, Bertha, who became his mistress when he was still a mere boy. His
grief on finding her faithless was doubtless as genuine as his conduct
with her had been reprehensible, for he cherished for many long years
the memory of his painful disappointment. The general statement, "Lenau
war stets verlobt, fand aber stets in sich selbst einen Widerstand und
unerklärliche Angst, wenn die Verbindung endgiltig gemacht werden
sollte,"[89] is inaccurate and misleading, inasmuch as it fails to take
into proper account the causes, mediate and immediate, of his hesitation
to marry. Lenau was only once "verlobt," and it was the stroke of facial
paralysis[90] which announced the beginning of the end, rather than any
"unerklärliche Angst," that convinced him of the inexpediency of that
important step.
Beyond a doubt his long drawn out and abject devotion to the wife of his
friend Max Löwenthal proved the most important single factor in his
life. It was during the year 1834, after his return from America, that
Lenau made the acquaintance of the Löwenthal family in Vienna.[91]
Sophie, who was the sister of his old comrade Fritz Kleyle, so attracted
the poet that he remained in the city for a number of weeks instead of
going at once to Stuttgart, as he had planned and promised. What at
first seemed an ideal friendship, increased in intensity until it
became, at least on Lenau's part, the very glow of passion. We have
already alluded to the poet's premature erotic instinct, an impulse
which he doubtless inherited from his sensual parents. In his numerous
letters and notes to Sophie, he has left us a remarkable record of the
intensity of his passion. Not even excepting Goethe's letters to Frau
von Stein, there are no love-letters in the German language to equal
these in literary or artistic merit; and never has any other German poet
addressed himself with more ardent devotion to a woman. A characteristic
difference between Hölderlin and Lenau here becomes evident: the former,
even in his relations with Diotima, supersensual; the latter the very
incarnation of sensuality. Lenau was fully conscious of the tremendous
struggle with overpowering passion, and once confessed to his clerical
friend Martensen that only through the unassailable chastity of his
lady-love had his conscience remained void of offence. Almost any of his
innumerable protestations of love taken at random would seem like the
most extravagant attempt to give utterance to the inexpressible: "Gottes
starke Hand drückt mich so fest an Dich, dass ich seufzen muss und
ringen mit erdrückender Wonne, und meine Seele keinen Atem mehr hat,
wenn sie nicht Deine Liebe saugen kann. Ach Sophie! ach, liebe, liebe,
liebe Sophie!"[92] "Ich bete Dich an, Du bist mein Liebstes und
Höchstes."[93] "Am sechsten Juni reis' ich ab, nichts darf mich halten.
Mir brennt Leib und Seele nach Dir. Du! O Sophie! Hätt' ich Dich da! Das
Verlangen schmerzt, O Gott!"[94] Instead of experiencing the soothing
influences of a Diotima, Lenau's fate was to be engaged for ten long
years in a hot conflict between principle and passion, a conflict which
kept his naturally oversensitive nerves continually on the rack. He
himself expresses the detrimental effect of this situation: "So treibt
mich die Liebe von einer Raserei zur andern, von der zügellosesten
Freude zu verzweifeltem Unmut. Warum? Weil ich am Ziel der höchsten, so
heiss ersehnten Wonne immer wieder umkehren muss, weil die Sehnsucht nie
gestillt wird, wird sie irr und wild und verkehrt sich in
Verzweiflung,--das ist die Geschichte meines Herzens."[95] It would seem
from the tone of many of his letters that there was much deliberate and
successful effort on the part of Sophie to keep Lenau's feelings toward
her always in a state of the highest nervous tension. So cleverly did
she manage this that even her caprices put him only the more hopelessly
at her mercy. One day he writes: "Mit grosser Ungeduld erwartete ich
gestern die Post, und sie brachte mir auch einen Brief von Dir, aber
einen, der mich kränkt."[96] For a day or two he is rebellious and
writes: "Ich bin verstimmt, missmutig. Warum störst Du mein Herz in
seinen schönen Gedanken von innigem Zusammenleben auch in der
Ferne?"[97] But only a few days later he is again at her feet: "Ich habe
Dir heute wieder geschrieben, um Dich auch zum Schreiben zu treiben. Ich
sehne mich nach Deinen Briefen. Du bist nicht sehr eifrig, Du bist es
wohl nie gewesen. Und kommt endlich einmal ein Brief, so hat er meist
seinen Haken--O liebe Sophie! wie lieb' ich Dich!"[98] Her attitude on
several occasions leaves room for no other inference than that she was
extremely jealous of his affections. When in 1839 a mutual regard sprang
up between Lenau and the singer Karoline Unger, a regard which held out
to him the hope of a fuller and happier existence, we may surmise the
nature of Sophie's interference from the following reply to her: "Sie
haben mir mit Ihren paar Zeilen das Herz zerschmettert,--Karoline liebt
mich und will mein werden. Sie sieht's als ihre Sendung an, mein Leben
zu versöhnen und zu beglücken.--Es ist an Ihnen Menschlichkeit zu üben
an meinem zerrissenen Herzen.--Verstosse ich sie, so mache ich sie elend
und mich zugleich.--Entziehen Sie mir Ihr Herz, so geben Sie mir den
Tod; sind Sie unglücklich, so will ich sterben. Der Knoten ist
geschürzt. Ich wollte, ich wäre schon tot!"[99] Not only was this
proposed match broken off, but when some five years later Lenau made the
acquaintance of and became engaged to a charming young girl, Marie
Behrends, and all the poet's friends rejoiced with him at the prospect
of a happy marriage, a "Musterehe," as he fondly called it, Sophie wrote
him the cruel words: "Eines von uns muss wahnsinnig werden."[100] Only a
few months were needed to decide which of them it should be.
The foregoing illustrations are ample to show what sort of influence
Sophie exerted over the poet's entire nature, and therefore upon his
Weltschmerz. Whereas in their hopeless loves, Hölderlin and to an even
greater extent Goethe, struggled through to the point of renunciation,
Lenau constantly retrogrades, and allows his baser sensual instincts
more and more to control him. He promises to subdue his wild outbursts a
little,[101] and when he fails he tries to explain,[102] to
apologize.[103] If with Hölderlin love was to a predominating degree a
thing of the soul, it was with Lenau in an equal measure a matter of
nerves, and as such, under these conditions, it could not but contribute
largely to his physical, mental and moral disruption. With Hölderlin it
was the rude interruption from without of his quiet and happy
intercourse with Susette, which embittered his soul. With Lenau it was
the feverish, tumultuous nature of the love itself, that deepened his
melancholy.
The charge of affectation in their Weltschmerz would be an entirely
baseless one, both in the case of Hölderlin and Lenau. But this
difference is readily discovered in the impressions made upon us by
their writings, namely that Hölderlin's Weltschmerz is absolutely naïve
and unconscious, while that of Lenau is at all times self-conscious and
self-centered. Mention has already been made, in speaking of Lenau's
pathological traits,[104] of his confirmed habit of self-diagnosis. This
he applied not only to his physical condition but to his mental
experiences as well. No one knew so well as he how deeply the roots of
melancholy had penetrated his being. "Ich bin ein Melancholiker" he once
wrote to Sophie, "der Kompass meiner Seele zittert immer wieder zurück
nach dem Schmerze des Lebens."[105] Innumerable illustrations of this
fact might be found in his lyrics, all of which would repeat with
variations the theme of the stanza:
Du geleitest mich durch's Leben
Sinnende Melancholie!
Mag mein Stern sich strebend heben,
Mag er sinken,--weichest nie![106]
The definite purpose with which the poet seeks out and strives to keep
intact his painful impressions is frankly stated in one of his diary
memoranda, as follows: "So gibt es eine Höhe des Kummers, auf welcher
angelangt wir einer einzelnen Empfindung nicht nachspringen, sondern sie
laufen lassen, weil wir den Blick für das schmerzliche Ganze nicht
verlieren, sondern eine gewisse kummervolle Sammlung behalten wollen,
die bei aller scheinbaren Aussenheiterkeit recht gut fortbestehen
kann."[107] Hölderlin, as we have noted,[108] not infrequently pictures
himself as a sacrifice to the cause of liberty and fatherland, to the
new era that is to come:
Umsonst zu sterben, lieb' ich nicht; doch
Lieb' ich zu fallen am Opferhügel
Für's Vaterland, zu bluten des Herzens Blut,
Für's Vaterland....[109]
Lenau, on the other hand, is anxious to sacrifice himself to his muse.
"Künstlerische Ausbildung ist mein höchster Lebenszweck; alle Kräfte
meines Geistes, meines Gemütes betracht' ich als Mittel dazu. Erinnerst
Du Dich des Gedichtes von Chamisso,[110] wo der Maler einen Jüngling ans
Kreuz nagelt, um ein Bild vom Todesschmerze zu haben? Ich will mich
selber ans Kreuz schlagen, wenn's nur ein gutes Gedicht gibt."[111] And
again: "Vielleicht ist die Eigenschaft meiner Poesie, dass sie ein
Selbstopfer ist, das Beste daran."[112] The specific instances just
cited, together with the inevitable impressions gathered from the
reading of his lyrics, make it impossible to avoid the conclusion that
we are dealing here with a _virtuoso_ of Weltschmerz; that Lenau was not
only conscious at all times of the depth of his sorrow, but that he was
also fully aware of its picturesqueness and its poetic possibilities. It
is true that this self-consciousness brings him dangerously near the
bounds of insincerity, but it must also be granted that he never
oversteps those bounds.
Regarded as a psychological process, Lenau's Weltschmerz therefore
stands midway between that of Hölderlin and Heine. It is more
self-centred than Hölderlin's and while the poet is able to diagnose the
disease which holds him firmly in its grasp, he lacks those means by
which he might free himself from it. Heine goes still further, for
having become conscious of his melancholy, he mercilessly applies the
lash of self-irony, and in it finds the antidote for his Weltschmerz.
Fichte, says Erich Schmidt, calls egoism the spirit of the eighteenth
century, by which he means the revelling, the complete absorption, in
the personal. This will naturally find its favorite occupation in
sentimental self-contemplation, which becomes a sort of fashionable
epidemic. It is this fashion which Goethe wished to depict in "Werther,"
and therefore Werther's hopeless love is not wholly responsible for his
suicide. "Werther untergräbt sein Dasein durch Selbstbetrachtung," is
Goethe's own explanation of the case.[113] And it is in this light only
that Werther's malady deserves in any comprehensive sense the term
Weltschmerz. Here, then, Lenau and Werther stand on common ground. Other
traits common to most poets of Weltschmerz might here be enumerated as
characteristic of both, such as extreme fickleness of purpose,
supersensitiveness, lack of definite vocation, and the like; all of
which goes to show that while for artistic purposes Goethe required a
dramatic cause, or rather occasion, for Werther's suicide, he
nevertheless fully understood all the symptoms of the prevailing disease
with which his sentimental hero was afflicted.
While the personal elements in Lenau's Weltschmerz are much more intense
in their expression than with Hölderlin, its altruistic side is
proportionately weaker. So far as we may judge from his lyrics, very
little of Lenau's Weltschmerz was inspired by patriotic considerations.
There is opposition, it is true, to the existing order, but that
opposition is directed almost solely against that which annoyed and
inconvenienced him personally, for example, against the stupid as well
as rigorous Austrian censorship. Against this bugbear he never ceases to
storm in verse and letters, and to it must be attributed in a large
measure his literary alienation from the land of his adoption. That we
must look to his lyrics rather than to his longer epic writings, in
order to discover the poet's deepest interests, is nowhere more clearly
evidenced than in the following reference to his "Savonarola," in a
letter to Emilie Reinbeck during the progress of the work: "Savonarola
wirkte zumeist als Prediger, darum muss ich in meinem Gedicht ihn
vielfach predigen und dogmatisieren lassen, welches in vierfüssigen
doppeltgereimten Iamben sehr schwierig ist. Doch es freut mich, Dinge
poetisch durchzusetzen, an deren poetischer Darstellbarkeit wohl die
meisten Menschen verzweifeln. Auch gereicht es mir zu besonderem
Vergnügen, mit diesem Gedicht gegen den herrschenden Geschmack unseres
Tages in Opposition zu treten."[114] The inference lies very near at
hand that his opposition to the prevailing taste was after all a
secondary consideration, and that the poet's first concern was to win
glory by accomplishing something which others would abandon as an
impossibility. While recognizing the fact that Lenau's "Faust" and "Don
Juan" are largely autobiographical, it is, I think, obvious that an
entirely adequate impression of his Weltschmerz may be gained from his
letters and lyrics alone, in which the poet's sincerest feelings need
not be subordinated for a moment to artistic purposes or demands. And
nowhere, either in lyrics or letters, do we find such spontaneous
outbursts of patriotic sentiment as greet us in Hölderlin's poems:
Glückselig Suevien, meine Mutter![115]
This could not be otherwise; for was he (Lenau) not an Hungarian by
birth, an Austrian by adoption, and in his professional affiliations a
German? Had his interests not been divided between Vienna and Stuttgart,
and had he not been possessed with an apparently uncontrollable
restlessness which drove him from place to place, his patriotic
enthusiasm would naturally have turned to Austria, and the poetic
expression of his home sentiments would not have been confined, perhaps,
to the one occasion when he had put the broad Atlantic between himself
and his kin. That his brother-in-law Schurz should wish to represent him
as a dyed-in-the-wool Austrian is only natural.[116] However this may
be, the poet does not hesitate to state in a letter to Emilie Reinbeck:
"Ein Hund in Schwaben hat mehr Achtung für mich als ein Polizeipräsident
in Oesterreich."[117] And although he professes to have become hardened
to the pestering interference of the authorities, as a matter of fact it
was a constant source of unhappiness to him. "So aber war mein Leben
seit meinem letzten Briefe ein beständiger Aerger. Die verfluchten
Vexationen der hiesigen Censurbehörde haben selbst jetzt noch immer kein
Ende finden können."[118] Speaking of his hatred for the censorship law,
he says: "Und doch gebührt mein Hass noch immer viel weniger dem Gesetze
selbst, als denjenigen legalisierten Bestien, die das Gesetz auf eine so
niederträchtige Art handhaben;--und unsre Censoren stellen im Gegensatze
der pflanzen- und fleischfressenden Tiere die Klasse der
geistfressenden Tiere dar, eine abscheuliche, monströse Klasse!"[119]
Roustan expresses the opinion that with Lenau patriotism occupied a
secondary place.[120] He had too many "native lands" to become attached
to any one of them.
There is something of a counterpart to Hölderlin's Hellenism and
championship of Greek liberty in Lenau's espousal of the Polish cause.
But here again the personal element is strongly in evidence. A chance
acquaintance, which afterward became an intimate friendship, with Polish
fugitives, seems to have been the immediate occasion of his Polenlieder,
so that his enthusiasm for Polish liberty must be regarded as incidental
rather than spontaneous. Needless to say that with a Greek cult such as
Hölderlin's Lenau had no patience whatever. "Dass die Poesie den
profanen Schmutz wieder abwaschen müsse, den ihr Goethe durch 50 Jahre
mit klassischer Hand gründlich einzureiben bemüht war; dass die
Freiheitsgedanken, wie sie jetzt gesungen werden, nichts seien als
konventioneller Trödel,--davon haben nur wenige eine Ahnung."[121]
All these considerations tend to convince us that Lenau's Weltschmerz is
after all of a much narrower and more personal type than Hölderlin's.
Again and again he runs through the gamut of his own painful emotions
and experiences, diagnosing and dissecting each one, and always with the
same gloomy result. Consequently his Weltschmerz loses in breadth what
through the depth of the poet's introspection it gains in intensity.
One of the most striking and, unless classed among his numerous other
pathological traits, one of the most puzzling of Lenau's characteristics
is the perverseness of his nature. His intimate friends were wont to
explain it, or rather to leave it unexplained by calling it his
"Husarenlaune" when the poet would give vent to an apparently unprovoked
and unreasonable burst of anger, and on seeing the consternation of
those present, would just as suddenly throw himself into a fit of
laughter quite as inexplicable as his rage. He takes delight in things
which in the ordinarily constructed mind would produce just the reverse
feeling. Speaking once of a particularly ill-favored person of his
acquaintance he says: "Eine so gewaltige Hässlichkeit bleibt ewig neu
und kann sich nie abnützen. Es ist was Frisches darin, ich sehe sie
gerne."[122] And in not a few of his poems we see a certain predilection
for the gruesome, the horrible. So in the remarkable figure employed in
"Faust:"
Die Träume, ungelehr'ge Bestien, schleichen
Noch immer nach des Wahns verscharrten Leichen.[123]
This perverseness of disposition is in a large measure accounted for by
the fact that Lenau was eternally at war with himself. Speaking in the
most general way, Hölderlin's Weltschmerz had its origin in his conflict
with the outer world, Lenau's on the other hand must be attributed
mainly to the unceasing conflict or "Zwiespalt" within his breast. In
his childhood a devout Roman Catholic, he shows in his "Faust" (1833-36)
a mind filled with scepticism and pantheistic ideas; "Savonarola" (1837)
marks his return to and glorification of the Christian faith; while in
the "Albigenser" (1838-42) the poet again champions complete
emancipation of thought and belief. Only a few months elapsed between
the writing of the two poems "Wanderung im Gebirge" (1830), in which the
most orthodox faith in a personal God is expressed, and "Die Zweifler"
(1831). The only consistent feature of his poems is their profound
melancholy. But Lenau's inner struggle of soul did not consist merely in
his vacillating between religious faith and doubt; it was the conflict
of instinct with reason. This is evident in his relations with Sophie
Löwenthal. He knows that their love is an unequal one[124] and chides
her for her coldness,[125] warning her not to humiliate him, not even in
jest;[126] he knows too that his alternating moods of exaltation and
dejection resulting from the intensity of his unsatisfied love are
destroying him.[127] "Oefter hat sich der Gedanke bei mir angemeldet:
Entschlage dich dieser Abhängigkeit und gestatte diesem Weibe keinen so
mächtigen Einfluss auf deine Stimmungen. Kein Mensch auf Erden soll dich
so beherrschen. Doch bald stiess ich diesen Gedanken wieder zurück als
einen Verräter an meiner Liebe, und ich bot mein reizbares Herz wieder
gerne dar Deinen zärtlichen Misshandlungen.--O geliebtes Herz!
missbrauche Deine Gewalt nicht! Ich bitte Dich, liebe Sophie!"[128] And
yet, in spite of it all, he is unable to free himself from the thrall of
passion: "Wie wird doch all mein Trotz und Stolz so gar zu nichte, wenn
die Furcht in mir erwacht, dass Du mich weniger liebest";[129] and all
this from the same pen that once wrote: "das Wort Gnade hat ein Schuft
erfunden."[130]
But just as helpless as this defiant pride proved before his
all-consuming love for Sophie, so strongly did it assert itself in all
his other relations with men and things. A hasty word from one of his
best friends could so deeply offend his spirit that, according to his
own admission, all subsequent apologies were futile.[131] For Lenau,
then, such an attitude of hero worship as that assumed by Hölderlin
towards Schiller, would have been an utter impossibility. We have
already seen the extent to which he was over-awed (?) by Goethe's views
when they were at variance with their own.[132] On another occasion he
writes: "Was Goethe über Ruysdael faselt, kannte ich bereits."[133]
Toward his critics his bearing was that of haughty indifference: "Mag
auch das Talent dieser Menschen,[TN1] mich zu insultieren, gross sein,
mein Talent, sie zu verachten, ist auf alle Fälle grösser."[134] When
his Frühlingsalmanach of 1835 had been received with disfavor by the
critics, he professed to be concerned only for his publisher: "Ich
meinerseits habe auf Liebe und Dank nie gezählt bei meinen
Bestrebungen."[135] "Die (Recensenten) wissen den Teufel von
Poesie."[136] Whether this real or assumed nonchalance would have stood
the test of literary disappointments such as Hölderlin's, it is needless
to speculate.
Hölderlin eagerly sought after happiness and contentment, but fortune
eluded him at every turn. Lenau on the contrary thrust it from him with
true ascetic spirit.
The mere thought of submitting to the ordinary process of negotiations
and recommendations for a vacant professorship of Esthetics in Vienna is
so repulsive to his pride, that the whole matter is at once allowed to
drop, notwithstanding that he has been preparing for the place by
diligent philosophical studies.[137] The asceticism with which he
regarded life in general is expressed in a letter to Emilie Reinbeck,
1843, in which he says: "Wer die Welt gestalten helfen will, muss darauf
verzichten, sie zu geniessen."[138] But more often this resignation
becomes a defiant challenge: "Ich habe dem Leben gegenüber nun einmal
meine Stellung genommen, es soll mich nicht hinunterkriegen. Dass mein
Widerstand nicht der eines ruhigen Weisen ist, sondern viel Trotziges an
sich hat, das liegt in meinen Temperament."[139]
Another characteristic difference between Lenau's Weltschmerz and
Hölderlin's lies in the fact that the writings of the latter do not
exhibit that absolute and abject despair which marks Lenau's lyrics.
Typical for both poets are the lines addressed by each to a rose:
Ewig trägt im Mutterschosse,
Süsse Königin der Flur,
Dich und mich die stille, grosse,
Allbelebende Natur.
Röschen unser Schmuck veraltet,
Sturm entblättert dich und mich,
Doch der ew'ge Keim entfaltet
Bald zu neuer Blüte sich![140]
Unmistakable as is the melancholy strain of these verses, they are not
without a hopeful afterthought, in which the poet turns from
self-contemplation to a view of a larger destiny. Not so in Lenau's
poem, "Welke Rosen":
In einem Buche blätternd, fand
Ich eine Rose welk, zerdrückt,
Und weiss auch nicht mehr, wessen Hand
Sie einst für mich gepflückt.
Ach mehr und mehr im Abendhauch
Verweht Erinn'rung; bald zerstiebt
Mein Erdenlos; dann weiss ich auch
Nicht mehr, wer mich geliebt.[141]
The intensely personal note of the last stanza is in marked contrast
with the corresponding stanza of Hölderlin's poem just quoted. Further
evidence that Lenau's Weltschmerz was constitutional, while Hölderlin's
was the result of experience, lies in this very fact, that nowhere do
the writings of the former exhibit that stage of buoyant expectation,
youthful enthusiasm, or hopeful striving, which we find in some of the
earlier poems of the latter. In Hölderlin's ode "An die Hoffnung," he
apostrophizes hope as "Holde! gütig Geschäftige!"
Die du das Haus der Trauernden nicht verschmähst.[142]
Lenau, in his poem of the same title, tells us he has done with hope:
All dein Wort ist Windesfächeln;
Hoffnung! dann nur trau' ich dir,
Weisest du mit Trosteslächeln
Mir des Todes Nachtrevier.[143]
Even his Faust gives himself over almost from the outset to abject
despair.
Logically consequent upon this state of mind is the poet's oft-repeated
longing for death. The persistency of this thought may be best
illustrated by a few quotations from poems and letters, arranged
chronologically:
1831. Mir wird oft so schwer, als ob ich einen Todten in mir
herumtrüge.[144]
1833. Und mir verging die Jugend traurig,
Des Frühlings Wonne blieb versäumt,
Der Herbst durchweht mich trennungsschaurig,
Mein Herz dem Tod entgegenträumt.[145]
1837. Heute dachte ich öfter an den Tod, nicht mit bitterem Trotz
und störrischem Verlangen, sondern mit freundlichem Appetit.[146]
1837. Soll ich Dir alles sagen? Wisse, dass ich wirklich daran
dachte, mir den Tod zu geben.[147]
1838. Der Gedanke des Todes wird mir immer freundlicher, und ich
verschwende mein Leben gerne.[148]
1838. Durchs Fenster kommt ein dürres Blatt
Vom Wind hereingetrieben;
Dies leichte offne Brieflein hat
Der Tod an mich geschrieben.[149]
1840. Oft will mich's gemahnen, als hätte ich auf Erden nichts
mehr zu thun, und ich wünschte dann, Gervinus möchte
recht haben, indem er, wie Georg mir erzählte, mir einen
baldigen Zusammenbruch und Tod prophezeite.[150]
1842. Ich habe ein wollüstiges Heimweh, in Deinen Armen zu
sterben.[151]
1843. Selig sind die Betäubten! noch seliger sind die Toten![152]
1844. In dieses Waldes leisem Rauschen
Ist mir, als hör' ich Kunde wehen,
Dass alles Sterben und Vergehen
Nur heimlichstill vergnügtes Tauschen.[153]
If we should seek for the Leit-motif of Lenau's Weltschmerz, we should
unquestionably have to designate it as the _transientness of life_. Thus
in the poem "Die Zweifler," he exclaims:
Vergänglichkeit! wie rauschen deine Wellen
Durch's weite Labyrinth des Lebens fort![154]
Ten per cent, of all Lenau's lyrics bear titles which directly express
or suggest this thought, as for example, "Vergangenheit,"
"Vergänglichkeit," "Das tote Glück," "Einst und Jetzt," "Aus!," "Eitel
Nichts," "Verlorenes Glück," "Welke Rose," "Vanitas," "Scheiden,"
"Scheideblick," and the like; while in not less than seventy-one per
cent of his lyrics there are allusions, more or less direct, to this
same idea, which shows beyond a doubt how large a component it must have
been of the poet's characteristic mood.
If Hölderlin, the idealist, judges the things which are, according to
his standard of things as they _ought to be_, Lenau, on the other hand,
measures them by the things which _have been_.
Friedhof der entschlafnen Tage,
Schweigende Vergangenheit!
Du begräbst des Herzens Klage,
Ach, und seine Seligkeit![155]
Nowhere is this mental attitude of the poet toward life in all its forms
more clearly defined than in his views of nature. That this is an
entirely different one from Hölderlin's goes without saying. Lenau has
nothing of that naïve and unsophisticated childlike nature-sense which
Hölderlin possessed, and which enabled him to find comfort and
consolation in nature as in a mother's embrace. So that while for
Hölderlin intercourse with nature afforded the greatest relief from his
sorrows, Lenau's Weltschmerz was on the contrary intensified thereby.
For him the rose has no fragrance, the sunlight no warmth, springtime no
charms, in a word, nature has neither tone nor temper, until such has
been assigned to it by the poet himself. And as he is fully aware of the
artistic possibilities of the mantle of melancholy "um die wunde Brust
geschlungen,"[156] it follows consistently that he should select for
poetic treatment only those aspects of nature which might serve to
intensify the expression of his grief.
Among the titles of Lenau's lyrics descriptive of nature are "Herbst,"
"Herbstgefühl" (twice), "Herbstlied," "Ein Herbstabend,"
"Herbstentschluss," "Herbstklage," and many others of a similar kind,
such as "Das dürre Blatt," "In der Wüste," "Frühlings Tod," etc. If we
disregard a few quite exceptional verses on spring, the statement will
hold that Lenau sees in nature only the seasons and phenomena of
dissolution and decay. So in "Herbstlied":
Ja, ja, ihr lauten Raben,
Hoch in der kühlen Luft,
's geht wieder ans Begraben,
Ihr flattert um die Gruft![157]
"Je mehr man sich an die Natur anschliesst," the poet writes to Sophie
Schwab, "je mehr man sich in Betrachtungen ihrer Züge vertieft, desto
mehr wird man ergriffen von dem Geiste der Sehnsucht, des schwermütigen
Hinsterbens, der durch die Natur auf Erden weht."[158] Characteristic is
the setting which the poet gives to the "Waldkapelle":
Der dunkle Wald umrauscht den Wiesengrund,
Gar düster liegt der graue Berg dahinter,
Das dürre Laub, der Windhauch gibt es kund,
Geschritten kommt allmählig schon der Winter.
Die Sonne ging, umhüllt von Wolken dicht,
Unfreundlich, ohne Scheideblick von hinnen,
Und die Natur verstummt, im Dämmerlicht
Schwermütig ihrem Tode nachzusinnen.[159]
The sunset is represented as a dying of the sun, the leaves fall sobbing
from the trees, the clouds are dissolved in tears, the wind is described
as a murderer. We see then that Lenau's treatment of nature is
essentially different from Hölderlin's. The latter explains man through
nature; Lenau explains nature through man. Hölderlin describes love as a
heavenly plant,[160] youth as the springtime of the heart,[161] tears as
the dew of love;[162] Lenau, on the other hand, characterizes rain as
the tears of heaven, for him the woods are glad,[163] the brooklet
weeps,[164] the air is idle, the buds and blossoms listen,[165] the
forest in its autumn foliage is "herbstlich gerötet, so wie ein
Kranker, der sich neigt zum Sterben, wenn flüchtig noch sich seine
Wangen färben."[166] A remarkable simile, and at the same time
characteristic for Lenau in its morbidness is the following:
Wie auf dem Lager sich der Seelenkranke,
Wirft sich der Strauch im Winde hin und her.[167]
Hölderlin speaks of a friend's bereavement as "ein schwarzer
Sturm";[168] when he had grieved Diotima he compares himself to the
cloud passing over the serene face of the moon;[169] gloomy thoughts he
designates by the common metaphor "der Schatten eines Wölkchens auf der
Stirne."[170] Lenau turns the comparison and says:
Am Himmelsantlitz wandelt ein Gedanke,
Die düstre Wolke dort, so bang, so schwer.[171]
Where Hölderlin finds delight in the incorporeal elements of nature,
such as light, ether, and ascribes personal qualities and functions to
them, Lenau on the contrary always chooses the tangible things and
invests them with such mental and moral attributes as are in harmony
with his gloomy state of mind. Consequently Lenau's Weltschmerz never
remains abstract; indeed, the almost endless variety of concrete
pictures in which he gives it expression is nothing short of remarkable,
not only in the sympathetic nature-setting which he gives to his
lamentations, but also in the striking metaphors which he employs. Of
the former, probably no better illustration could be found in all
Lenau's poems than his well-known "Schilflieder"[172] and his numerous
songs to Autumn. One or two examples of his incomparable use of
nature-metaphors in the expression of his Weltschmerz will suffice:
Hab' ich gleich, als ich so sacht
Durch die Stoppeln hingeschritten,
Aller Sensen auch gedacht,
Die ins Leben mir geschnitten.[173]
Auch mir ist Herbst, und leiser
Trag' ich den Berg hinab
Mein Bündel dürre Reiser
Die mir das Leben gab.[174]
Der Mond zieht traurig durch die Sphären,
Denn all die Seinen ruhn im Grab;
Drum wischt er sich die hellen Zähren
Bei Nacht an unsern Blumen ab.[175]
The forceful directness of Lenau's metaphors from nature is aptly shown
in the following comparison of two passages, one from Hölderlin's "An
die Natur," the other from Lenau's "Herbstklage," in which both poets
employ the same poetic fancy to express the same idea.
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.[176]
If we compare the simile in the last line with the corresponding
metaphor used by Lenau in the following stanza,--
Wie der Wind zu Herbsteszeit
Mordend hinsaust in den Wäldern,
Weht mir die Vergangenheit
Von des Glückes Stoppelfeldern,[177]
the greater artistic effectiveness of the latter figure will be at once
apparent.
The idea that nature is cruel, even murderous, as suggested in the
opening lines of the stanza just quoted, seems in the course of time to
have become firmly fixed in the poet's mind, for he not only uses it for
poetic purposes, but expresses his conviction of the fact on several
occasions in his conversations and letters. Tossing some dead leaves
with his stick while out walking, he is said to have exclaimed: "Da
seht, und dann heisst es, die Natur sei liebevoll und schonend! Nein,
sie ist grausam, sie hat kein Mitleid. Die Natur ist erbarmungslos!"[178]
It goes without saying that in such a conception of nature the poet
could find no amelioration of his Weltschmerz.[179]
In summing up the results of our discussion of Lenau's Weltschmerz, it
would involve too much repetition to mention all the points in which it
stands, as we have seen, in striking contrast to that of Hölderlin.
Suffice it to recall only the most essential features of the comparison:
the predominance of hereditary and pathological traits as causative
influences in the case of Lenau; the fact that whereas Hölderlin's
quarrel was largely with the world, Lenau's was chiefly within himself;
the passive and ascetic nature of Lenau's attitude, as compared with the
often hopeful striving of Hölderlin; the patriotism of the latter, and
the relative indifference of the former; Lenau's strongly developed
erotic instinct, which gave to his relations with Sophie such a vastly
different influence upon his Weltschmerz from that exerted upon
Hölderlin by his relations with Diotima; and finally the marked
difference in the attitude of these two poets toward nature.
A careful consideration of all the points involved will lead to no other
conclusion than that whereas in Hölderlin the cosmic element
predominates, Lenau stands as a type of egoistic Weltschmerz. To quote
from our classification attempted in the first chapter, he is one of
"those introspective natures who are first and chiefly aware of their
own misery, and finally come to regard it as representative of universal
evil." Nowhere is this more clearly stated than in the poet's own words:
"Es hat etwas Tröstliches für mich, wenn ich in meinem Privatunglück den
Familienzug lese, der durch alle Geschlechter der armen Menschen geht.
Mein Unglück ist mir mein Liebstes,--und ich betrachte es gerne im
verklärenden Lichte eines allgemeinen Verhängnisses."[180]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 75: _Euphorion_, 1899, p. 791.]
[Footnote 76: "Nicolaus Lenau," _Neue Fr. Pr._, Nr. 11166-7]
[Footnote 77: Schurz, Vol. II, p. 212.]
[Footnote 78: Cf. _Euphorion_, 1899, p. 795.]
[Footnote 79: Anton Schurz: "Lenau's Leben," Cotta, 1855 (hereafter
quoted as "Schurz"), Vol. II, p. 199.]
[Footnote 80: "Lenaus Werke," ed Max Koch, in Kürschner's DNL.
(hereafter quoted as "Werke"), Vol. I, p. 525 f.]
[Footnote 81: Cf. _supra_, p. 22.]
[Footnote 82: Cf. among others Sadger, Weiler. _Infra_, p. 88.]
[Footnote 83: "Nicolaus Lenau's Briefe an einen Freund," Stuttgart,
1853, p. 68 f.]
[Footnote 84: "Nicolaus Lenau's sämmtliche Werke," herausgegeben von G.
Emil Barthel, Leipzig, Reclam, p. CI.]
[Footnote 85: Schurz, Vol. I, p. 169.]
[Footnote 86: Schurz, Vol. II, p. 144.]
[Footnote 87: Schurz, Vol. II, p. 152f.]
[Footnote 88: Schurz, Vol. I, p. 275.]
[Footnote 89: Ricarda Huch: "Romantische Lebensläufe." _Neue d.
Rundschau_, Feb. 1902, p. 126.]
[Footnote 90: Sept. 29, 1844. Cf. Schurz, Vol. II, p. 223.]
[Footnote 91: L. A. Frankl: "Lenau und Sophie Löwenthal," Stuttgart,
1891 (hereafter quoted as "Frankl") p. 189, incorrectly states the date
as 1838. Possibly it is a misprint.]
[Footnote 92: Frankl, p. 155.]
[Footnote 93: Frankl, p. 151.]
[Footnote 94: Frankl, p. 164.]
[Footnote 95: Frankl, p. 102.]
[Footnote 96: Frankl, p. 149.]
[Footnote 97: Frankl, p. 150.]
[Footnote 98: Frankl, p. 150.]
[Footnote 99: Schurz, Vol. II, p. 7.]
[Footnote 100: Cf. Lenau's Sämmtl. Werke, herausg. von G. Emil Bartel,
Leipzig, ohne Jahr. Introd., p. clxv.]
[Footnote 101: Frankl, p. 32.]
[Footnote 102: Frankl, p. 14.]
[Footnote 103: Frankl, p. 30.]
[Footnote 104: Cf. _supra_, p. 38.]
[Footnote 105: Frankl, p. 15.]
[Footnote 106: Werke, I, p. 89.]
[Footnote 107: Frankl, p. 114.]
[Footnote 108: Cf. _supra_, p. 18.]
[Footnote 109: Hölderlins Werke, Vol. 1, p. 195.]
[Footnote 110: "Das Kruzifix, Eine Künstlerlegende," 1820.]
[Footnote 111: Schurz, Vol. I, p. 158f.]
[Footnote 112: Schurz, Vol. II, p. 6.]
[Footnote 113: Cf. Breitinger: "Studien und Wandertage;" Frauenfeld,
Huber, 1870.]
[Footnote 114: Schlossar: "Nicolaus Lenaus Briefe an Emilie von
Reinbeck," Stuttgart, 1896 (hereafter quoted as "Schlossar"), p. 98.]
[Footnote 115: Werke, Vol. II, p. 260.]
[Footnote 116: Schurz, Vol. II, p. 193.]
[Footnote 117: Schlossar, p. 109.]
[Footnote 118: Schlossar, p. 111.]
[Footnote 119: Schlossar, p. 112 f.]
[Footnote 120: "Lenau et son Temps," Paris, 1898, p. 351.]
[Footnote 121: Schlossar, p. 103.]
[Footnote 122: Schlossar, p. 154.]
[Footnote 123: Werke, Vol. II, p. 183.]
[Footnote 124: Frankl, p. 99.]
[Footnote 125: Frankl, p. 90.]
[Footnote 126: Frankl, p. 90.]
[Footnote 127: Frankl, p. 192.]
[Footnote 128: Frankl, p. 173.]
[Footnote 129: Frankl, p. 103.]
[Footnote 130: Schlossar, p. 55.]
[Footnote 131: Cf. Schlossar, p. 93 f.]
[Footnote 132: Cf. _supra_, p. 48.]
[Footnote 133: Schlossar, p. 46.]
[Footnote 134: Schlossar, p. 85.]
[Footnote 135: Schlossar, p. 83.]
[Footnote 136: Schurz, Vol. I, p. 176.]
[Footnote 137: Cf. Schlossar, p. 173.]
[Footnote 138: Schlossar, p. 184.]
[Footnote 139: Schlossar, p. 87.]
[Footnote 140: Hölderlin, "An eine Rose," Werke, Vol. I, p. 142.]
[Footnote 141: Werke, Vol. I, p. 389.]
[Footnote 142: Hölderlins Werke, Vol. I, p. 253.]
[Footnote 143: Werke, Vol. I, p. 99.]
[Footnote 144: Schurz, Vol. I, p. 132.]
[Footnote 145: Werke, Vol. I, p. 82.]
[Footnote 146: Frankl, p. 79.]
[Footnote 147: Frankl, p. 102.]
[Footnote 148: Frankl, p. 127.]
[Footnote 149: Werke, Vol. I, p. 267.]
[Footnote 150: Schlossar, p. 144.]
[Footnote 151: Frankl, p. 169.]
[Footnote 152: Schlossar, p. 188.]
[Footnote 153: Werke, Vol. I, p. 405.]
[Footnote 154: Werke, Vol. I, p. 130.]
[Footnote 155: Werke, Vol. I, p. 62.]
[Footnote 156: Werke, Vol. I, p. 102.]
[Footnote 157: Werke, Vol. I, p. 299.]
[Footnote 158: Cf. Farinelli, in _Verhandlungen des 8. deutschen
Neuphilologentages_, Hannover, 1898, p. 58.]
[Footnote 159: Werke, Vol. I, p. 137.]
[Footnote 160: Höld. Werke, Vol. I, p. 167.]
[Footnote 161: Höld. Werke, Vol. I, p. 143.]
[Footnote 162: Höld. Werke, Vol. I, p. 140.]
[Footnote 163: Len. Werke, Vol. I, p. 258.]
[Footnote 164: Len. Werke, Vol. I, p. 250.]
[Footnote 165: Len. Werke, Vol. I, p. 260.]
[Footnote 166: Len. Werke, Vol. I, p. 249.]
[Footnote 167: Len. Werke, Vol. I, p. 147.]
[Footnote 168: Höld. Werke, Vol. I, p. 144.]
[Footnote 169: Höld. Werke, Vol. I, p. 164.]
[Footnote 170: Höld. Werke, Vol. II, p. 117.]
[Footnote 171: Len. Werke, Vol. I, p. 147.]
[Footnote 172: Werke, Vol. I, p. 51 f]
[Footnote 173: "Der Kranich," Werke, Vol. I, p. 328.]
[Footnote 174: "Herbstlied," Werke, Vol. I, p. 299.]
[Footnote 175: "Mondlied," Werke, Vol. I, p. 310.]
[Footnote 176: Höld. Werke, Vol. I, p. 146.]
[Footnote 177: Werke, Vol. I, p. 299.]
[Footnote 178: Schurz, Vol. II, p. 104.]
[Footnote 179: For an exhaustive discussion of Lenau's nature-sense cf.
Prof. Camillo von Klenze's excellent monograph on the subject, "The
Treatment of Nature in the Works of Nikolaus Lenau," Chicago, University
Press, 1902.]
[Footnote 180: Frankl, p. 116.]