The Sorrows of Young Werther by Goethe

Before I quote from this book:
Having read Thomas Mann's The Beloved Returns, I think about those immortal scenes, and what Loette had said about them. How she didn't ask to be immortalized, and how she was just a pure and innocent girl enjoying her life while Goethe used her character to impact humanity. I love the energy and passion that Werther gives off, it's rare to see such energy on paper. he loves losing himself to nature, worshiping the "sublime and beautiful".

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"That the life is but a dream is a thought which has occurred to many people, and I myself am constantly haunted by it. When i see the limitations which imprison the active and speculative faculties of man; when I see how all human activity is directed toward procuring satisfaction for needs that have n other purpose than prolonging our miserable existence; when I see, moreover, how any comfort we may derive from certain points of inquiry is merely a dreamlike kind of resignation, in which we paint our prison walls with gaily colored figures and luminous prospects- all this, Wilhelm, leaves me speechless. I withdraw into my inner self and there discover a world- a world, it is true, rather of vague perceptions and dim desires than of creative power and vital force. And then everything swims before my senses, and I go on smiling at the outer world like someone in a dream."

The marvelous "vague" and "dim" mind of a poet! Goethe distinguishes two worlds, a world of "vague perceptions and dim desires" and the "outer world". And how each world affects the other. As if the world of dreams spilled into reality...

"[...] But that grown-ups too stumble like children on this earth, not knowing whence they come or wither they go, acting as little according to true purposes, being ruled like them by cakes and birch rods, no one likes to believe; yet to me it seems quite obvious."

We are all children in essence- the difference is only that it comes in different forms.

"O my friends! Why does the stream of genius so seldom break out as a torrent, with roaring high waves, and shake your awed soul?"

"Since then, sun, moon, and stars may continue on their course; for me there is neither day nor night, and the entire universe about me has ceased to exist."

As if these forced has wiped out the universe, and only what one chooses (maybe involuntarily) to see remains.

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I was thinking about Werther, and George Sand's Lélia, and how this passion was most inflamed by this noble creature- this obstacle of achieving their desire. Only this made them feel passion and set their whole being aflame. What contrast! I mean, true, the poets could have lived a life of debauchery, and gotten their "passions" out of this life. But then, they wouldn't have truly felt them and suffered from them. And suffering made them treasure these noble creatures all the more. They wouldn't have had to pine away in this alternative life, they would have easily achieved it. I think for the poet, it is a deliberate decision to love something that cannot return the same love without reserve. Only then do they realize that they have monster inside of them. What excites the poet in them, also starts to destroy them...Such is the fate of the poet, what a misfortune! What a curse! They are bound to suffer, and it is all voluntarily!
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"[...] and He makes us happiest when He lets us stagger under a benign delusion."

The question then, is, is there really happiness in this delusion? maybe happiness in reality has a different essence, less made up of the mind, and more of the spontaneity and mystery of the uncontrollable. Because delusion is the mind tricking us.

"-Oh, the times when i longed to fly on the crane's wings, as it passed overhead, to the shores of the illimitable ocean, in order to drink from the foaming cup of the Infinite and elating sensation of life, and to feel, if only for a moment, in the cramped forces of my being one drop of the bliss of that being who creates everything and through Himself."

In this passage, Goethe includes God so delicately- and gives him the authorship of the "bliss", which is very peculiar. Because usually bliss is derived from the mind, but Goethe gives glory to this "infinite" Creator. Maybe he is trying to say that true "bliss" is more than what the mind creates, but what the Mysterious is able to produce. And such bliss cannot be compared to what our pathetic little mind tries to synthetically manufacture.

"Can you say, 'This is!' when everything passes, everything rolls past with the speed of lightning and so rarely exhaust the whole power of its existence, alas, before it is swept away by the current, drowned and smashed on the rocks?"

"[...]-The blossoms of life are only phantoms. How many fade, leaving no trace behind; how few bear fruit, and how few of these fruit ripen!"

"Therefore, our fortune and misfortune depends on the objects and persons to which we compare ourselves; and for that reason nothing is more dangerous than solitude. Our imagination, by its nature inclined to exalt itself, and nourished by the fantastic imagery of poetry, crates a series of beings of which we are the lowest, so that everything else appears more wonderful, everyone else more perfect. And that is completely natural. We so frequently feel that we are lacking in many qualities which another person apparently possesses, and we then furnish such a person with everything we ourselves posses and with a certain idealistic complacency in addition. And in this fashion a Happy Being is finished to perfection- the creature of our imagination."

What power our imagination has- to create! that is interesting, we are the lowest of the "hierarchy" in our imagination- instead of being superior to everyone else. This gives us more flexibility-for if we had everything we could only deduct- and eventually remain with nothing, but by being able to add to our qualities we truly can reach perfection- in our mind! That is delusion! How clever.

"-You see, dear friend, how limited and how happy were the glorious Aneients! How naive their emotions and poetry! When Ulysses speaks of the immeasurable sea and the infinite earth, everything is true, human, deeply felt, intimate, and mysterious. What is the use of my present knowledge, which I share with any school boy, that the earth is round? Man needs only a few clods of earth wherein to enjoy himself, and even fewer for his last rest."

The more we let go of our knowledge, the more we'll be able to purely and fully embrace Nature as it really is.

"[...] -oh, when this glorious Nature lives before me as immobile as on a little lacquered painting, and all this beauty cannot pump one single drop of happiness from my heart to my brain, and the whole man stands before the face of God like a dried-up well, like a broken pitcher-"

One little detail makes a world of difference! sure, one can attempt to enjoy nature in all its forms, and yet, something in us has to respond to the beauty, or else it might as well be nothing. It depends on us! Goodness, that a burned is placed not only on our moods and ever-changing feelings,but on the little tiny details that make up our events, and therefore our lives. Happiness depends on so many factors! And yet, when one strives to enjoy God, then, and only then, can one also enjoy Nature. For he is the Creator of it all. For when one looks outside of oneself, then he is able to see the whole picture. And that "whole" is God: infinite and immortal.

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The story is of course immortal. It describes the "classic poet", that chooses his density, his forbidden destiny, and suffers from it in the end. Such youth, energy, and innocence! Werther must have been extremely close to Nature, as long as his love lasted. As long as his love bloomed and grew into the surroundings. And the "classic poet" is also shown to be extremely confused as he tries to deal with Genius- which makes him even more lost. For some reason, it was too much for him to bear- and this led to the "classic" death of the poet- suicide, which is the most difficult of all. It reminds me of a quote from Balzac, I believe, asking how anyone can know what has gone through a poets mind, from the moment he entered the city with such hope and needed his life in such despair. It is as if the poet's fate is to soar where no one has soared before, to crash back down in the uttermost sorrow, and despair and even insanity. What these marvelous delights of the mind and soul can do to the poet! I'm sorry to mention, but he was a bit selfish to ruin the life of his beloved- showing that the "classic poet" is not so noble as he thinks. But his sort of immaturity and innocence is what makes the poet a poet.

Also, reading this story, a concept came to me. What if the "sublime and beautiful" goes beyond what we can see- what this does to our Beings- but into every detail of our lives, every concept, and idea, everything that is impacted by the Mystery and Majesty of the unknown, the uncontrollable? For it cannot end at our vision- it has to go beyond, into the spiritual- for only then it is infinite. If that makes any sense...

--

This image is so stupendous. Not only does it give this extremely vague and undefined energy to it- but the branches of the trees seem to float in the air- as if they have given up. This seems to me to be the world of the poet- alone and vague. Goethe echoed the theme that no matter how much the poet tries to be optimistic- and tries to outgrow his calling, destiny does not let him go. Loneliness and solitude both make up the poet- but that is where genius gets to thrive.



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Published by Everyman's Library

Lost Illusions by Balzac

"Pride, untapered intercourse with the great world, becomes stiff and starched by contact with petty things; in a loftier moral atmosphere it would have grown to noble magnanimity."

What a horrible shame, that potential genius could be crushed down by shallow pride! It seems to be a crime against humanity!


"There are pleasures which can only be felt to the full when two souls meet, poet and poet, heart and heart."


"[...]there is a kind of being who is both prince and actor, and invested besides with a magnificent order of priesthood- that the Poet who seems to do nothing, yet reigns over all humanity when he can paint humanity"

Although I don't think this was his greatest masterpiece, as the Barnes & Noble edition claims, Balzac describes this character from "heaven". How fickle Lucien is! He is such a child- he could be an angel one moment, and a total demon the next, all the time believing he is doing the right thing, when he really is servicing his ego. Balzac seems to have sympathy for him, as most of the characters seem to do- even his enemies- they understand him. Those who loved him the most were the most blinded- and payed for it I did like the contest between the sister and David, and Lucien. To live a fair and honest life, and to be driven by the wold unknowingly worshiping the I Even the most naive can commit horrible follies. The book consisted of too many technicalities and details that which I ended up skipping.


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Pub by Everyman's Library

I picked the picture below- Naive by ~vivalascorpion because it describes the character of Lucien. He imagine him to be a pretty boy- and yet extremely naive. His beauty and his talent makes him be loved by the rest of the characters- even though he is an egoist. The look in his eyes show such naivety and yet determination.

Atala/René by Chateaubriand

Atala
"Great passions are solitary, and when you take them out into the wilderness you are setting them into their very own sphere."

They remind me of demons, who supposedly roam the depths of the ocean.
"(...) O dreadful, sublime Nature, were you no more than a device contrived to deceive us, and could you not for an instant conceal a man's joy in your mysterious horrors?" "Man, thou art but a fleeting vision, a sorrowful dream. Misery is thy essence, and thou art nothing save in the sadness of thy soul and the eternal melancholy of thy thought."

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This story adresses a very unsual concept- religion in the savage. It was extremely heroic of Atala and how he could withstand the temptations when there were so many encouragements- culture, and the surroundings. Cachtas represented the reaction of the 'white man's' religion, and in the end, even he admired the powerful "force" he witnessed.

René *****
"These singers come of a divine race and possess the only sure power which heaven has granted earth. Their life is at once innocent and sublime. They speak like like immortals or little children. They explain the laws of the universe and cannot themselves understand the most elementary concerns of life. They have marvelous intuition of death and die with no consciousness of it, like new-born infants."

It is as if they involuntarily and naturally reject life's nonsense "elementary concerns of life" -they are above it, they don't need to meddle with such low and inferior things- contrary to this "divine race". Marvelously said. it is a race, of the select few who have graced us with their presences temporarily on this earth.

"I went down into the valley and up on the mountain, calling, with all the strength of my desire, for the ideal creature of some future passion. I embraced her in teh winds and thought I heard her in the river's moaning. Everything became this vision of my imagination- the stars in the skies and the very principle of life in the universe." "They consider me the victim of an imagination which plunges toward the end of all pleasures as though it suffered form their duration."

To suffer from pleasure! What hell that must be! On the contrary, René got pleasue from sufferin, because that is the only thing that lasted for him.
"The echoes of passion in the emptiness of a lonely heart are like the murmurings of wind and water in the silence of the wilderness- they offer their joy, but cannot be portrayed."


As if it was distant and unachievable. As if it was forever blocked and can only be seen, through glass.

"Our heart is a defective instrument, a lyre with several chords missing, which forces us to express our joyful moods in notes meant for lamentation." "(...) it seemed to me that life grew so strong in the depths of my heart that I had the power to create worlds." "Rise swiftly, coveted storms, coming to bear me off to the spaces of another life! This was my plea, as I plunged ahead with great strides, my face all aflame and the wind whistling through my hair, feeling neither rain nor frost, bewitched, tormented, and virtually possessed by the demon of my heart."

"[...] it seemed to me that life grew so strong in the depths of my heart that I had the power to create worlds."

Reminds me of the Hydrogen clouds in space, and how because of so much energy new stars are created...

"[...] my heart loved God, and my mind knew him not ... but does man always know what he wishes, and is he always sure of what he thinks?"

"Know that solitude is bad for the man who does not live with God. It increases the soul's power while robbing it at the same time of every opportunity to find expression. Whoever has been endowed with talent must devote it to serving his fellow men, for if he does not make use of it, he is first punished by an inner misery, and sooner or later Heaven visits on him a fearful retribution. "

It is as if it commands to be spread out and shared, to be used as a sacrifice for humanity, or it becomes a curse to the bearer. Genius can be a terrible thing if it is kept to one's self.

One can see why he was the father of French Romanticism. I think he has such a pure and non-vulgar style. The rest of the french are all about drama, but he describes the most beautiful thing: to be disillusioned and yet to be pure... I really enjoyed reading René- I wish I could write down the whole story... That it is all hopeless for a poet. He is doomed to die of love, whether it happened in the mind or not.

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Reaction to both:
The difference between Atala and Rene is that Rene managed to not find happiness and hope in anything, while Atala held on till the end. Rene let the mind eat at him through loneliness, and he indulged in it until it at all the happiness away. Shows how the mind, the imagination, can corrupt and prey on its host. That the mind needs to be put to good use "to serve fellow men" or it kills us internally. Very interesting concept- a very dangerous thing, especially for the romantic. It is extremely interesting that Chateaubriand makes this point- the Father of French Romanticism. What a great warning! Also, Rene seems extremely selfish in his indulgence. A certain arrogance develops- he constantly brought beauty in but never out. He was content enough to worhsip and idolize, because his ideal, his creation, was better than reality.

The German Classics Vol III by Friedrich von Schiller

The Ideal and the Actual Life

"Cast from thee, Earth, the bitter and real,
High from this cramp'd and dungeon being, spring
Into the Realm of the Ideal!"

The Homage of the Arts

"ARTS
We hate the deceivers,
Despisers of heaven;
We seek among morals
Who to virtue are given.
Where pure hearts have welcome
To give to a friend,
We will build habitations
To dwell without end."

"POETRY
O'er realms of thought- the Word my winged tool."

I love the concept of the arts dwelling not only in an individual, but through humanity, and using the individual to continue their eternal existence. Reminds me of Thomas Mann's The Beloved Returns when Goethe says, "Say, if you will that I am the flame, and into me the poor moth flings itself. Yet in the chance and change of things I am the candle too, giving my body that the light may burn." (See Mann label). It is as if the human body is nothing but a dwelling place to use our imagination to exist. Surprisingly, this genius is dependent on humanity- for without an imagination- it cannot be appreciated.

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Published by The German Publican Soc (1913)

Colomba and Carmen by Prosper Merimee

In both stories, the heroines have an extremely wild and rebellious character. I liked how he addresses the gypsy theme- showing much respect for them. In Colomba- I did not like the Englishwoman and how Orso accepted being "civilized"- which is what the English love to do. I hated how she was capricious and arrogant- thinking she was so special and unique. How Orso's wild and passionate personality submitted before her. Carmen was my favorite, portraying a very strong character, a strong woman.


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Pub by P.F. Collier & Son

Lélia by George Sand

"Isn't it sad to revive centuries that no longer exist and force them to entertain us now? Aren't these costumes of the past, which represent vanished generations, a frightening lesson to make us recall the brevity of human life in the midst of all this drunken festivity (...) They have passed on without dreaming of the generations that preceded them or of the ones to follow, without dreaming that they themselves, who were covered with gold and perfume and who surrounded themselves with luxuries, were awaiting the cold of the shroud and the oblivion of the tomb."

Morbid truth. Depressing!

"Nature has nothing rare enough within the treasuring of its naive joys to appease the thirst for happiness within us. We must have heaven, and we don't have it!
That is why we seek heaven in a creature like ourselves, and we expand on this creature all that high energy we've been given to use more nobly. We refuse God the emotion of adoration, an emotion which was put in us to return to God alone. We transfer it to an incomplete, feeble human being who becomes the god of our idolatrous cult."

"My God, is love only to be found in a desirous heart, in a suffering imagination, in the dreams which lull us during lonely nights? Is love an impalpable breath? Is love a meteor that burns and dies. Is it a world? My God, what is love?"

"Reverie can evoke nothing, because in the creations of thought nothing is as beautiful as brute, savage nature. One must look and feel before nature: the greatest poet invents the least."

Nothing in our minds can compare to the spontaneity of nature... it is the ultimate continuously living and refreshing masterpiece- the poet just needs to learn how to describe nature- something that is impossible to do perfectly. For to describe is to analyze. To analyze is to take away from the real meaning. A poet needs to learn how to enjoy nature- and let that be expressed.

"But what use have these voyages been to me? Have I ever seen anything which resembled my fantasies? Oh, how poor nature seemed to me, the sky leaden and the sea narrow, in contrast to the lands, skies and oceans that I crossed in my immaterial flight! What beauty is left to charm us in real life, what strengths are left to enjoy and admire in the human soul when the imagination has spend everything in advance by an abuse of its powers?"

This spending in "advance" was an abuse to the imagination's powers because it has a limit, it only goes so far as our mind has learned. The imagination cannot imagine something that is not connected to something that already exists: it is forever dependent on reality. It would be like craving some spice in a far off land that no one has ever discovered. I suppose the "pleasures" of the imagination consists mostly in the element of disillusion- taking reality and blurring it. Then it goes beyond the reality, into something more, or less- an added ingredient that creates the perfect realm. We fancy whatever we would like to happen in the reality. In the end, it always comes back to reality.

"How grave and solemn are those cries of time, which sound like a death cry, breaking indifferently on the resonant walls of dwellings or on echoless tombs."

"You are right to say that poetry has led men astray. She has desolated the real world, cold, poor, and wretched as it is compared to the dreams she creates. Drunk with her promises, lulled by her sweet mockeries, I could never resign myself to reality. Poetry has created other sensitives in me that nothing on earth could satisfy (...)"

The disadvantages of the imagination: it creates a gap between reality and dreams. This gap provides such a contrast that the poet dreams while looking at his own reality. This shocking contrast can "lead men astray". Meaning: they obsess over something they could never achieve.

"Day by day this power of love increased, exciting my sensitivity and spreading itself unrestrainedly around me. I threw all my thoughts, all my strength into the void of an elusive universe which sent me back all my sensations blunted."

"There is a refuge from God: nothingness."

"Rein in the desire of your ardent soul. Prolong this blind hope and this childishness of the heart with all your strength. These qualities live only for a day and never return. Govern wisely, guard vigilantly, and spend frugally the treasure of your illusions."

There is a fine balance between sucking your imagination dry, and enjoying them cautiously while they last. That is the difference between Sténio- who worshiped the present: nature and all its beauty- and Lélia- who craved for more and more and enjoyed them too much. To a point where they ceased to be illusions but food to feed the soul. They become a form of sustenance and ceased to be concepts and ideals.

"In the silence of the fields, amid austere country life, it is always acknowledged as the voice of God."

No one who lives so close to nature can really treasure and have respect for it without involuntary belief in God- as if believing was the same thing as acknowledging the existence of nature. this shows the wisdom of the ones who are surrounded by nature: an instinctive wisdom.

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I really enjoyed this book. It brought me a more in depth perspective on living in illusions, and living in reality. Sténio lived in a romanticized reality, that worshiped the real in such an honest and youthful way. His romantic ideas found source in the nature he saw. Lélia is a very interesting example on the life in the unreal- when the real becomes dull and unexciting while the mind is constantly spent in fleeting thoughts, thoughts that only give momentary pleasure. I take this character to be as a warning, as Sténio warned the young girl- to be careful how one uses one's illusions, and not to make more of them- expect more of them- than one is meant to. Because then, they cease to be what they are.

It was curious how she found refuge in the silent and solitary and urged the blazing youth to do the same. To give up his youth, and really, become her. She, who had so much suffering. She shouldn't have killed his love for reality by pointing out the cold aspects that make it up= she should have left him in his youth, instead of trying to et him out. I think she was threatened by it, and saw it as a sort of disease- because of her personal experiences.

Magnes was an example of the restraining of one's nature, and how one can't escape one's nature through suppression. It is bound to come out and be worse than before. I wonder why Sand had Magnes kill Lélia. What significance does it show? The one who suppressed his desires killed the one who indulged too much in them. Something to think about.

The Demon by Lermontov

"And long he gazed, with fascination
at the sweet view; as if in a dream
came as on summons from afar
and swam before him, star on star."

"Her dreams, his manner of appearing,
such flattery had not failed to reach
her heart; his sad gaze, the endearing,
the tender strangeness of his speech.
herself not knowing rhyme or reason,
she's pined and languished many days;
her heart may wish to pray in season
to holy saints, to him it prays;
worn out by struggle unabating,
if she lies down on slumber's bed,
her pillow burns, she's suffocating,
she starts up, shivering with dread;
her breast, her shoulders flame, she races
to breathe, she chokes, mist's in her eyes,
her arms are thirsting for embraces,
and on her lips a kiss that dies..."

"
...
my heaven, my hell are in your gaze.
I love you with no earthly passion,
such love that you could never find:
with rapture, in the towering fashion
of an immortal heart and mind."





















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I'm surprised Lermontov depicted this concept- for a devil be attracted to a maiden. This just seems too much of a taboo, especially at that time. I really liked how the demon was fascinated by her beauty. Why, I wonder, did she attract his attention? A mere human being? Personally, I think it was because of the "purity" she represent. Not only because she probably was a virgin, but because she had a pure MIND. Lermontov portrays this very well:

she's pined and languished many days;
her heart may wish to pray in season
to holy saints, to him it prays;

She is so affected! Her whole world is upside down! As much as she tried to keep her piety, she was deterred by him. And yet, she still tries, thinking it is her duty. Only a pure maiden would want to do good when she knows she is entering the realm of temptation. And what temptation? Those are nothing but dreams!

With what passion can a demon love?