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:

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":

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!"

Lenau, in his poem of the same title, tells us he has done with hope:

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:

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:

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.

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":

"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":

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:

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:

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:

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.

If we compare the simile in the last line with the corresponding metaphor used by Lenau in the following stanza,—

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]

CHAPTER IV

Heine was probably the first German writer to use the term Weltschmerz in its present sense. Breitinger in his essay "Neues über den alten Weltschmerz"[181] endeavors to trace the earliest use of the word and finds an instance of it in Julian Schmidt's "Geschichte der Romantik,"[182] 1847. He seems to have entirely overlooked Heine's use of the word in his discussion of Delaroche's painting "Oliver Cromwell before the body of Charles I." (1831).[183] The actual inventor of the compound was no doubt Jean Paul, who wrote (1810): "Diesen Weltschmerz kann er (Gott) sozusagen nur aushalten durch den Anblick der Seligkeit, die nachher vergütet."[184]

But although Heine may have been the first to adapt the word to its present use, and although we have fallen into the habit of thinking of him as the chief representative of German Weltschmerz, it must be admitted that there is much less genuine Weltschmerz to be found in his poems than in those of either Hölderlin or Lenau. The reason for this has already been briefly indicated in the preceding chapter. Hölderlin's Weltschmerz is altogether the most naïve of the three; Lenau's, while it still remains sincere, becomes self-conscious, while Heine has an unfailing antidote for profound feeling in his merciless self-irony. And yet his condition in life was such as would have wrung from the heart of almost any other poet notes of sincerest pathos.

In Lenau's case we noted circumstances which point to a direct transmission from parent to child of a predisposition to melancholia. In Heine's, on the other hand, the question of heredity has apparently only an indirect bearing upon his Weltschmerz. To what extent was his long and terrible disease of hereditary origin, and in what measure may we ascribe his Weltschmerz to the sufferings which that disease caused him? The first of these questions has been answered as conclusively as seems possible on the basis of all available data, by a doctor of medicine, S. Rahmer, in what is at this time the most recent and most authoritative study that has been published on the subject.[185] Stage by stage he follows the development of the disease, from its earliest indications in the poet's incessant nervous headaches, which he ascribes to neurasthenic causes. He attempts to quote all the passages in Heine's letters which throw light upon his physical condition, and points out that in the second stage of the disease the first symptoms of paralysis made their appearance as early as 1832, and not in 1837 as the biographers have stated. To this was added in 1837 an acute affection of the eyes, which continued to recur from this time on. In addition to the pathological process which led to a complete paralysis of almost the whole body, Rahmer notes other symptoms first mentioned in 1846, which he describes as "bulbär" in their origin, such as difficulty in controlling the muscles of speech, difficulty in chewing and swallowing, the enfeebling of the muscles of the lips, disturbances in the functions of the glottis and larynx, together with abnormal secretion of saliva. He discredits altogether the diagnosis of Heine's disease as consumption of the spinal marrow, to which Klein-Hattingen in his recent book on Hölderlin, Lenau and Heine[186] still adheres, dismisses as scientifically untenable the popular idea that the poet's physical dissolution was the result of his sensual excesses, finally diagnoses the case as "die spinale Form der progressiven Muskelatrophie"[187] and maintains that it was either directly inherited, or at least developed on the basis of an inherited disposition.[188] He finds further evidence in support of the latter theory in the fact that the first symptoms of the disease made their appearance in early youth, not many years after puberty, and concludes that, in spite of scant information as to Heine's ancestors, we are safe in assuming a hereditary taint on the father's side.

The poet himself evidently would have us believe as much, for in his Reisebilder he says: "Wie ein Wurm nagte das Elend in meinem Herzen und nagte,—ich habe dieses Elend mit mir zur Welt gebracht. Es lag schon mit mir in der Wiege, und wenn meine Mutter mich wiegte, so wiegte sie es mit, und wenn sie mich in den Schlaf sang, so schlief es mit mir ein, und es erwachte, sobald ich wieder die Augen aufschlug. Als ich grösser wurde, wuchs auch das Elend, und wurde endlich ganz gross und zersprengte mein.... Wir wollen von andern Dingen sprechen...."[189]

And yet Heine's disposition was not naturally inclined to hypochondria. In his earlier letters, especially to his intimate friends, there is often more than cheerfulness, sometimes a decided buoyancy if not exuberance of spirits. A typical instance we find in a letter to Moser (1824): "Ich hoffe Dich wohl nächstes Frühjahr wiederzusehen und zu umarmen und zu necken und vergnügt zu sein."[190] Only here and there, but very rarely, does he acknowledge any influence of his physical condition upon his mental labors. To Immermann he writes (1823): "Mein Unwohlsein mag meinen letzten Dichtungen auch etwas Krankhaftes mitgeteilt haben."[191] And to Merkel (1827): "Ach! ich bin heute sehr verdriesslich. Krank und unfähig, gesund aufzufassen."[192] In the main, however, he makes a very brave appearance of cheerfulness, and especially of patience, which seems to grow with the hopelessness of his affliction. To his mother (1851): "Ich befinde mich wieder krankhaft gestimmt, etwas wohler wie früher, vielleicht viel wohler; aber grosse Nervenschmerzen habe ich noch immer, und leider ziehen sich die Krämpfe jetzt öfter nach oben, was mir den Kopf zuweilen sehr ermüdet. So muss ich nun ruhig aushalten, was der liebe Gott über mich verhängt, und ich trage mein Schicksal mit Geduld.... Gottes Wille geschehe!"[193] Again a few weeks later: "Ich habe mit diesem Leben abgeschlossen, und wenn ich so sicher wäre, dass ich im Himmel einst gut aufgenommen werde, so ertrüge ich geduldig meine Existenz."[194] Not only to his mother, whom for years he affectionately kept in ignorance of his deplorable condition, does he write thus, but also to Campe (1852): "Mein Körper leidet grosse Qual, aber meine Seele ist ruhig wie ein Spiegel und hat manchmal auch noch ihre schönen Sonnenaufgänge und Sonnenuntergänge."[195] 1854: "Gottlob, dass ich bei all meinem Leid sehr heiteren Gemütes bin, und die lustigsten Gedanken springen mir durchs Hirn."[196] Much of this sort of thing was no doubt nicely calculated for effect, and yet these and similar passages show that he was not inclined to magnify his physical afflictions either in his own eyes or in the eyes of others. Nor is he absolutely unreconciled to his fate: "Es ist mir nichts geglückt in dieser Welt, aber es hätte mir doch noch schlimmer gehen können."[197]

In his poems, references to his physical sufferings are remarkably infrequent. We look in vain in the "Buch der Lieder," in the "Neue Gedichte," in fact in all his lyrics written before the "Romanzero," not only for any allusion to his illness, but even for any complaint against life which might have been directly occasioned by his physical condition. What is there then in these earlier poems that might fitly be called Weltschmerz? Very little, we shall find.

Their inspiration is to be found almost exclusively in Heine's love-affairs, decent and indecent. Now the pain of disappointed love is the motive and the theme of very many of Hölderlin's and Lenau's lyrics, poems which are heavy with Weltschmerz, while most of Heine's are not. To speak only of the poet's most important attachments, of his unrequited love for his cousin Amalie, and his unsuccessful wooing of her sister Therese,—there can be no doubt that these unhappy loves brought years of pain and bitterness into his life, sorrow probably as genuine as any he ever experienced, and yet how little, comparatively, there is in his poetry to convince us of the fact. Nearly all these early lyrics are variations of this love-theme, and yet it is the exception rather than the rule when the poet maintains a sincere note long enough to engender sympathy and carry conviction. Such are his beautiful lyrics "Ich grolle nicht,"[198] "Du hast Diamanten und Perlen."[199] Let us see how Lenau treats the same theme: