Novalis Henry of Ofterdingen

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-4554-4291-1
Verlag: Seltzer Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 363 Seiten

This translation first published in 1842. According to Wikipedia: 'Novalis was the pseudonym of Georg Philipp Friedrich Freiherr von Hardenberg (May 2, 1772 - March 25, 1801), a poet, an author and philosopher of early German Romanticism... The novel fragments Heinrich von Ofterdingen and Die Lehrlinge zu Sais (The Novices of Sais) reflect the idea of describing a universal world harmony with the help of poetry. The novel 'Heinrich von Ofterdingen' contains the 'blue flower', a symbol that became an emblem for the whole of German Romanticism. Originally the novel was supposed to be an answer to Goethe's Wilhelm Meister, a work that Novalis had read with enthusiasm but later on judged as being highly unpoetical. He disliked the victory of the economical over the poetic.'

Autoren/Hrsg.

Novalis

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CHAPTER IX.
   At evening some guests were present; the grandfather drank the health of the young bridal pair, and promised to give them soon a splendid marriage feast. "Of what use is long waiting?" said the old man. "Early marriages make long love. I have always observed that marriages early contracted were the happiest. In latter years there is no longer such a devotion in the marriage relation as in youth. Youth, enjoyed in common, forms an inseparable tie. Memory is the safest ground of love."   After the meal more people came in. Henry asked his new father to fulfil his promise. Klingsohr said to the company, "I have promised Henry to-day to relate a tale. If it would please you I am ready to do so."   "That was a wise idea of Henry's," said Swaning. "We have heard nothing from you for a long time."   All seated themselves by the fire, which was sparkling on the hearth. Henry sat by Matilda, and stole his arm around her. Klingsohr began.   "The long night had just set in. The old hero struck his shield, so that it resounded far through the solitary streets of the city. Thrice he repeated the signal. Then the lofty, many-colored windows of the palace began to shed abroad their light, and their figures were put in motion. They moved the more quickly, as the ruddy stream which began to illumine the streets became stronger. Also by degrees the immense pillars and walls began to shine. At length they stood in the purest milk-blue glimmer, and flickered with the softest colors. The whole region was now visible, and the reflection of the figures, the clashing of the spears, swords, shields, and helmets, which bowed from all sides towards crowns appearing here and there, and finally closed round a simple green garland in a wide circle, as the crowns vanished before it; all this was reflected from the frozen sea that surrounded the hill on which the city stood,--and even the far distant mountain range, which girdled the sea, was half enwrapped with a mildly reflected splendor. Nothing could be plainly distinguished; yet a strange sound was heard, as if from an immense workshop in the distance. The city, on the contrary, was light and clear. Its smooth transparent walls reflected the beautiful beams; and the perfect symmetry, the noble style, and fine arrangement of all the buildings were well defined. Before every window stood earthern pots with ornaments, full of every variety of ice and snow flowers, which sparkled most brilliantly.   "But fairest of all appeared the garden upon the great square in front of the palace, consisting of metal plants and crystal trees, hung with varied jewel-blossoms and fruits. The manifold and delicate shapes, the lively lights and colors, formed a lordly spectacle, made still more magnificent by a lofty fountain, frozen in the midst of the garden. The old hero walked slowly past the palace doors. A voice from within called his name. He turned towards the door, which opened with a gentle sound, and stewed into the hall. His shield was held before his eyes.   "'Hast thou yet discovered nothing,' plaintively cried the beautiful daughter of Arcturus. She lay on silken cushions, upon a throne artfully fashioned from a huge pyrite-crystal, and some maidens were assiduously chafing her tender limbs, which seemed a rare union of milk and purple. On all sides streamed from beneath the hands of the maidens that charming light, which so wondrously illuminated the palace. A perfumed breeze was waving through the hall. The hero was silent.   "'Let me touch thy shield,' said she softly.   "He approached the throne and stepped upon the costly carpet. She seized his hand, pressed it with tenderness to her heavenly bosom, and touched his shield. His armor resounded, and a penetrating force inspired his frame. His eyes flashed, and the heart beat loudly against his breastplate. The beautiful Freya appeared more serene, and the light that streamed from her became more brilliant.   "'The king is coming,' cried a splendid bird that was perched behind the throne. The attendants threw an azure veil over the princess, which concealed her heaving bosom. The hero lowered his shield, and looked upward to the dome, whither two broad staircases wound from each side of the hall. Soft music preceded the king, who soon appeared in the dome, and descended with a numerous train.   "The beautiful bird unfolded its shining wings, and gently fluttering, sang to the king as with a thousand voices:     "The stranger fair delay no longer maketh.     Warmth draweth near, Eternity begins.     From long and tedious dreams the Queen awaketh,     When land in eddying love with ocean spins.     Her farewell hence the chilly midnight taketh,     When Fable first the ancient title wins.     The world will kindle upon Freya's breast,     And every longing in its longing rest."   The King embraced his daughter with tenderness. The spirits of the stars surrounded the throne, and the hero took his place in the order. A numerous crowd of stars filled the hall in splendid groups. The attendants brought a table and a little casket, containing a heap of leaves, upon which were inscribed mystic figures of deep significance, constructed of constellations. The king reverently kissed these leaves, mixed them carefully together, and handed some to his daughter; the rest he kept. The princess placed them in a row upon the table; then the king closely examined his own, and chose with much reflection before he added one to them. At times he seemed forced to choose this or that leaf. But often his joy was evident, when he could complete by a lucky leaf a beautiful harmony of signs and figures. As the play commenced, tokens of the liveliest sympathy were visible among all the by-standers, accompanied by peculiar looks and gestures, as if each one had an invisible instrument in his hands which he plied diligently. At the same time a gentle but deeply moving music was heard in the air, seeming to arise from the stars gliding past each other in a wondrous motion, and from the other movements so peculiar. The stars floated round, now slowly, now quickly, in continually changing lines, and curiously imitated, to the swell of the music, the figures on the leaves. The music changed incessantly with the images upon the table; and though the transitions were often strange and intricate, yet a simple theme seemed to unite the whole. With incredible adroitness the stars flew together according to the images. Now in great confusion, but now again beautifully arranged in single clusters, and now the long train was suddenly scattered, like a ray, into innumerable sparks, but soon came together, through smaller circles and patterns ever increasing, into one great figure of surprising beauty. The varied shapes in the windows remained all this time at rest. The bird unceasingly ruffled its costly plumage in every variety of form. Hitherto the old hero had also pursued an unseen occupation, when suddenly the king full of joy exclaimed, "all is well. Iron, throw thy sword into the world, that it may know where peace rests."   The hero snatched the sword from his thigh, raised it with the point to heaven, and hurled it from the window over the city and the icy sea. It flew through the air like a comet, and seemed to penetrate the mountain chain with a clear report, as it fell downward in brilliant flakes of fire.   At this time the beautiful child Eros lay in his cradle and slumbered gently, whilst Ginnistan his nurse rocked him, and held out her breast to his foster-sister Fable. She had spread her variegated wimple over the cradle, so that the bright lamp which stood before the scribe might not trouble the child. Busily he wrote, at times looking morosely at the children, and gloomily towards the nurse, who smiled upon him kindly and kept silence.   The father of the children walked in and out continually, at each turn gazing upon them, and greeting Ginnistan kindly. He always had something to dictate to the scribe. The latter observed his words exactly, and when he had written, handed them to an aged and venerable woman, who was leaning on an altar, where stood a dark bowl of clear water, into which she looked with serene smiles. When she dipped the leaves in the water, and found on withdrawing them, that some of the writing remained still glittering, she gave them to the scribe, who fastened them in a great book, and seemed much out of humor when his labor had been in vain, and all the writing had been obliterated. The woman turned at times towards Ginnistan and the children, and dipping her finger in the bowl, sprinkled some drops upon them, which, as soon as they touched the nurse, the child, or the cradle, dissolved into a blue vapor, exhibiting a thousand strange images, and floating and changing constantly around them. If one of these by chance touched the scribe, many figures and geometrical diagrams fell down, which he strung with much diligence upon a thread, and hung them for an ornament around his meagre neck. The child's mother, who was sweetness and loveliness itself, often came in. She seemed to be constantly occupied, always carrying with her some domestic utensil. If the prying scribe observed it, he began a long reproof, of which no one took any notice. All seemed accustomed to his fruitless fault-finding. The mother...