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Allen Wilson Porterfield >> Graf von Loeben and the Legend of Lorelei
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Modern Philology
VOLUME XIII October 1915 NUMBER 6 (pp. 65-92)
ALLEN WILSON PORTERFIELD
GRAF VON LOEBEN AND THE LEGEND OF LORELEI
I
The devotees of Apollo have to give a good account of themselves in
Olympia before, they can become _persona grata_ on Olympus. They spend
their lives, more or less, at the various games of poetry. Some, like
Goethe, win in the majority of trials, and then we study all of their
records regardless of their individual excellence. Some like Immermann
in _Oberhof_, win only once, but this is sufficient to insure
immortality. Some play and joust, run and wrestle with constancy and
grace; their records, just after starting and just before finishing,
are interesting, but in the end they are always defeated. And when
this is the case, posterity, lay and initiated, forgets their names
and concerns itself in no wise with their records, unless it be for
statistical purposes. It is to the latter class that Graf von
Loeben[1] belongs. For twenty-five years he was a perpetual,
loyal, chivalric contestant in the Olympic vale of poetry. His running
was interesting, but he never won; he never wrote a single thing that
everybody still reads for its own sake.
Aside from his connection with the Lorelei-matter, Graf von Loeben is,
therefore, at present, a wholly obscure, indeed unknown, Poet. The
large _Konversations-Lexikons_[2] of Meyer and Brockhaus say nothing
about him, unless it be in the discussion of some other poet with whom
he associated. Of the twenty best-known histories of German
literature, some of which treat nothing but the nineteenth century,
only six contain his name, and these simply mention him either as a
member of the Dresden group of pseudo-romanticists, or as one of those
_Afterromantiker_ who did yeoman service by way of bringing real
romanticism into disrepute through their unsubstantial, imitative, and
formless works. And this is true despite the fact that Loeben was an
exceedingly prolific writer and a very popular and influential man in.
his day. Concerning his personality, Muncker says: "Die Tiefe und
WAerme seines leicht erregbaren GemUethes, seine Herzensreinheit, seine
schwAermerische Hingabe an alles SchOene und Edle sowie sein zartes
TactgefUehl erwarben ihm bei Freunden und Bekannten das Lob einer
schOenen Seele in des Wortes schOenster Bedeutung."[3]
As to his poetic ability from the point of view of quantity, one can
only marvel at the amount he produced in the time at his disposal; his
creative works cover all types and sorts of literature.[4] He is best
known for his numerous poems and his _magnus opus_, _Guido_, a novel
of 360 pages, written under the pen-name of "Isidorus Orientalis," and
intended as a continuation of Novalis' _Ofterdingen_; he used Tieck's
notes for this purpose. He wrote also a great number of letters,
between 60 and 70 elaborate reviews, and some critical essays, the
best of which seems to be his commentary to Madame de Stael's _De
l'Allemagne_, while he translated from Anacreon, Dante, Guarini,
Horace, Ovid, Petrarch, Vergil, and others, and left a number of
fragments including the outline of a pretentious novel of which
Heinrich von Veldeke, whom he looked upon as "der Heilige des
Enthusiasmus," was to be the hero. And he was, incidentally, an
omnivorous reader, for, as he naively said:
Viele BUecher muss ich kennen,
Denn die Menschen kenn' ich gern.[5]
As to his originality, another confession is significant:
Ja, es gibt nur wenig Leute,
Deren SchUeler ich nicht bin.[6]
No attempt, however, has as yet been made at even an eclectic edition
of his numerous finished works, a few of which are still unpublished,
many of which are now rare.[7]
As to his standing with his literary contemporaries, Eichendorff
admitted[8] that Loeben influenced him as a man and as a poet; it was
he who induced Eichendorff to write some of his earlier works under
the pen-name of "Florens." And Eichendorff in turn credited Goethe
with the remark[9] that "Loeben war der vorzUeglichste Dichter jener
Zeit." His influence on Platen[10] is not quite so certain; Loeben was
Platen's senior by ten years, and they resembled each other in their
ability to employ difficult verse and strophe forms, and Platen read
Loeben in 1824. Kleist interested himself in Loeben sufficiently to
publish one of his short stories in his _AbendblAetter_, but only after
he had so thoroughly revised it that Reinhold Steig says: "Ich wUerde
als Herausgeber die ErzAehlung sogar unter Kleists _Parerga_
aufnehmen."[11] His connection with, and influence upon, the Dresden
group of romanticists, including Tieck, is a matter of record,[12] and
Fouque looked upon him as a poet of uncommon ability.[13]
But let no one on this account believe that Loeben was a great poet
and that the silence concerning him is therefore grimly unjust.
Goethe, whether he made the foregoing remark or not, at least
received[14] Loeben kindly; but he received others in the same way who
were not poets at all. Eichendorff said: "Loeben. Wunderbar poetische
Natur in stiller VerklAerung."[15] But Eichendorff was then only
nineteen years old, and he later took this back. Herder was moved to
tears[16] on reading Loeben's _Maria_, but Herder was easily moved,
and he died soon after; he would in all probability have changed his
mind too. Friedrich Schlegel, on the other hand, was not justified in
calling[17] the pastoral poems in _Arkadien_ "Schafpoesie." Uhland
praised[18] these same poems; but he reminded Loeben in no uncertain
terms, that the chief characteristic of southern poetry was
"Phantasie," while that of the northern poets was "GemUeth," and that
the attempt to revive the spirit of Guarini, Cervantes, and their kind
was not well taken.
That Loeben has been so totally neglected by historians and
encyclopedists is simply a case of that disproportion that so
frequently characterizes general treatises. Loeben is entitled to some
space in large works on German literature; but he was, like many
another who has been given space, a weak poet. And the sort of
weakness, with which he was endowed can be brought out by a discussion
of two of his novelettes, _Das weisse Ross,_[19] and _Leda,_ neither
of which is by any means his best work, and neither of which seems to
be his worst. But, to judge from what has been said of his prose works
in general, both are quite typical.
The plot so far as the action[20] is concerned is as follows: Otto
owes the victory he won at a tournament in NUernberg largely to the
beauty and agility of his great white horse Bellerophon. Siegenot von
der Aue had seen him and his horse perform and determined to obtain
Bellerophon, if possible, for, owing to a curse pronounced on his
family by a remote ancestor, Siegenot must either win at the next
tournament or become a monk, which he does not wish to do. Both he and
Otto love Felicitas, the niece of Graf Berthald. Siegenot secures
Bellerophon, is victorious at the tournament, though seriously
wounded, and is nursed back to health by Otto and Felicitas. It is
Otto, however, who wins Felicitas through his chivalric treatment of
his rival. The two are married, while Siegenot rides away on the great
white horse Bellerophon.
It is such creations that make us turn away from Loeben. Alas for
German romanticism if this story were wholly typical of it! It
contains the traditional conceits of the orthodox romanticists, but
applied in such a sweet, lovely, pretty fashion! One woman is placed
between two men, for in that way Loeben could best bring out his
philosophy of friendship. The only change, it seems, that he ever made
in this arrangement was to place one man between two women. The
sick-bed is poetized as the cradle of knowledge, for in it, or on it,
we become introspective and learn life. Old chronicles, tournaments,
jewelry, precious stones, Maryism, nature from every conceivable point
of view, dreams and premonitions, visions and hallucinations, religion
of the renunciatory type, the pain that clarifies, the friendship that
weeps, Catholic painting and lute music, and love--human and
divine--these are the main themes in this tale. Lyrics and episodic
stories are interpolated, obsolete words and stylistic archaisms
occur. In short, the novelette reads like an amalgamation of Novalis
without his philosophy, Waekenroder without his suggestiveness, and
Tieck without his constructive ability.
The story[21] entitled Leda is again typical of Loeben. Briefly
stated, the plot is as follows: Leda, the daughter of a Roman duke,
loves Cephalo, who is a gentleman but not a nobleman, and is loved by
him. Her father, however, has forced her to become engaged to Alberto,
a man of high degree, whom she does not love. The wedding is imminent,
and Leda is sorely perplexed. Her father does not know why she is so
indifferent to the approaching event and accordingly sends her to a
distant and lonely castle in the hope that she may become interested,
at least, in her own nuptials. While there she drowns herself in the
swan lake. Alberto drops out of the story, and Cephalo becomes the
intimate friend of the duke. Previous to this Alberto had ordered a
certain painter to paint a picture of "Leda and the Swan." Danae, the
daughter of an old, unscrupulous antiquarian, was seen by Cephalo
while posing as a model for Leda. Enraged at this, she tells her
father that she will not be appeased until married to Cephalo. But she
loses her life through the falling of an old, dilapidated castle
wherein she has been keeping an unconventional tryst, and Cephalo
becomes the intimate friend of the painter.
Loeben's ideas and technique stand out in every line of this story.
One woman is placed between two men, unexpected friendships are
developed, the lute and the zither are played in the moonlight, love
and longing abound, nature is made a confidant, _der Zaubern der
Kunst_ is overdone, familiar stories--Leda and the Swan, Actaeon and
Danae--are interwoven, there are manifest reminiscences of _Emilia
Galotti_ and _Ofterdingen_, and the prose is uncommonly fluent. The
only character in the entire narrative who has any virility is the
antiquarian, and he is one of the meanest Loeben ever drew. Alberto
has no will at all, Leda not much, Cephalo less than Leda, and Danae
is without character. In short, the only valuable, part of the story
lies in its approach to a development of the psychology of love in
art. But it is only an approach; and it does not make one feel
inclined to read a vast deal more of the prose works of Graf von
Loeben.
As to Loeben's lyrics,[22] they are irregular, inconsistent, and odd
as to orthography,[23] melodious and flowing in form, poor in ideas,
rich in feeling that frequently sounds forced, representative of
nearly all the important Germanic, Romance, and Oriental verse and
strophe forms, reminiscent of his reading[24] in many instances, and
romantic as a whole, especially in their constant portrayal of
longing. Loeben was the poet of _Sehnsucht_. He tried always _das Nahe
zu entfernen und das Ferne sich nahe zu bringen_. With a few
conspicuous exceptions, his lyrics resemble those of Geibel somewhat
in form and treatment. Poetry and individual poets receive grateful
consideration, the seasons are overworked, love rarely fails and
nature never, wine and the Rhine are not forgotten, and the South is
poetized as the land of undying inspiration. Of their kind, and in
their way, Loeben's poems are nearly perfect.[25] There are no
expressions that repel, no verses that jar, no poems that wholly lack
fancy, and there are occasional evidences of the inspiration that
rebounds. It would be presumptuous to ask for a more amiable poem than
"FrUehlingstrost" (46), or for a neater one than "Der NichterhOerte"
(121), or for a more gently roguish one than the triolett[26] entitled
"Frage" (55).
But be his poems never so good, there is no reason why Loeben should
be revived for the general reader. His prose works lack artistic
measure and objective plausibility; his lyrics lack clarity and
virility; his creations in general lack the story-telling property
that holds attention and the human-interest touches that move the
soul. His thirty-nine years were too empty of real experience;[27] his
works are not filled with the matter that endures. And it is for this
reason that they ceased to live after their author had died. His
connection with this earth was always just at the snapping-point. His
works constitute, in many instances, a poetic rearrangement of what he
had just latterly read. And when he is original he is vacuous. To
emphasize his works for their own sake would consequently be to set up
false values. Loeben can be studied with profit only by those people
who believe that great poets can be better understood and appreciated
by a study of the literary than by a study of the economic background.
To know Loeben[28] throws light on some of his much greater
contemporaries--Goethe, Eichendorff, Kleist, Novalis, Arnim, Brentano,
Uhland, GOerres, Tieck, and possibly Heine.
II
But it is not so much the purpose of this paper to evaluate Loeben's
creations as to locate him in the development of the Lorelei-legend,
and to prove, or disprove, Heine's indebtedness to him in the case of
his own poem of like name. The facts are these:
In 1801 Clemens Brentano published at Bremen the first volume of his
__Godwi_ and in 1802 the second volume at the same place.[29] He had
finished the novel early in 1799--he was then twenty-one years old.
Wieland was instrumental in securing a publisher.[30] Near the close
of the second volume, Violette sings the song beginning:
Zu Bacharach am Rheine
Wohnt eine Zauberin.
That this now well-known ballad of the Lorelei was invented by
Brentano is proved, not so much by his own statement to that effect as
by the fact that the erudite and diligent Grimm brothers, the friends
of Brentano, did not include the Lorelei-legend in their collection of
_579 Deutsche Sagen_, 1816. The name of his heroine Brentano took from
the famous echo-rock near St. Goar, with which locality he became
thoroughly familiar during the years 1780-89. No romanticist knew the
Rhine better or loved it more than Brentano. "Lore" means[31] a small,
squinting elf; and is connected with the verb "lauern." The oldest
form of the word is found in the _Codex Annales Fuldenses_, which goes
back to the year 858, and was first applied to the region around the
modern Kempten near Bingen. "Lei" means a rock; "Loreley" means then
"Elbfels." And what Brentano and his followers have done is to apply
the name of a place to a person.
In _Urania: Taschenbuch auf das Jahr 1821_, Graf von Loebcn published
his "Loreley: Eine Sage vom Rhein." The following ballad introduces
the saga in prose. Heine's ballad is set opposite for the sake of
comparison.[32]
Da wo der Mondschein blitzet Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten
Um's hOechste Felsgestein, Dass ich so traurig bin;
Das ZauberfrAeulein sitzet Ein MAerchen aus alten Zeiten,
Und schauet auf den Rhein. Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
Es schauet herUeber, hinUeber, Die Luft ist kUehl und es dunkelt,
Es schauet hinab, hinauf, Und ruhig fliesst der Rhein;
Die Schifflein ziehn vorUeber, Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt
Lieb' Knabe, sieh nicht auf! Im Abendsonnenschein.
Sie singt dir hold zum Ohre, Die schOenste Jungfrau sitzet
Sie blickt dich thOericht an, Dort oben wunderbar,
Sie ist die schOene Lore, Ihr goldenes Geschmeide blitzet,
Sie hat dir's angethan. Sie kAemmt ihr goldenes Haar.
Sie schaut wohl nach dem Rheine, Sie kAemmt es mit goldenem Kamme,
Als schaute sie nach dir, Und singt ein Lied dabei;
Glaub's nicht, dass sie dich meine, Das hat eine wundersame
Sich nicht, horch nicht nach ihr! Gewaltige Melodei.
So blickt sie wohl nach allen Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe
Mit ihrer Augen Glanz, Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;
LAesst her die Locken wallen Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,
Im wilden goldnen Tanz. Er schaut nur hinauf in die HOeh'.
Doch wogt in ihrem Blicke Ich glaube, die Wellen verschlingen
Nur blauer Wellen Spiel, Am Ende Schiffer und Kahn;
Drum scheu die WassertUecke, Und das hat mit ihrem Singen
Denn Flut bleibt falsch und kUehl! Die Lorelei gethan.
The following saga then relates how an old hunter sings this song to a
young man in a boat on the Rhine, warning him against the allurements
of the Lorelei on the rock above. The hunter's good intentions are
fruitless, the young man is drowned.
In the autumn of 1823, Heine wrote, while at Luneburg, his "Die
Lorelei." It was first published[33] in the _Gesellschafter,_ March
26, 1824. Commentators refer to the verse, "Ein MAerchen aus alten
Zeiten," as a bit of fiction, adding that it is not a title of olden
times, but one invented by Brentano about 1800. The statement is true
but misleading, for we naturally infer that Heine derived his initial
inspiration from Brentano's ballad. Concerning this matter there are
three points of view: Some editors and historians point out Brentano's
priority and list his successors without committing[34] themselves as
to intervening influence. This has only bibliographical value and for
our purpose may be omitted. Some trace Heine's ballad direct to
Brentano, some direct to Loeben. Which of these two points of view has
the more argument in its favor and can there be still a third?
In the first place, Heine never knew Brentano personally, and never
mentions him in his letters previous to 1824, nor in his letters[35]
that have thus far been published after 1824. _Godwi_ was repudiated
soon after its publicatipn by Brentano himself, who said[36] there was
only one good thing about it, the title, for, after people had said
"Godwi," they could just keep on talking and say, "Godwi, dumm." On
its account, Caroline called him Demens Brentano, while Dorothea
dubbed him "Angebrenntano." The novel became a rare and unread book
until Anselm Ruest brought out a new edition[37] with a critical and
appreciative introduction in 1906. Diel and Kreiten say "es ging fast
spurlos vorUeber." It was not included in his _Gesammelte Schriften_
(1852-55), though the ballad[38] was. Heine does not mention it in his
_Romantische Schule_, which was, however, written ten years after he
had finished his "Die Lorelei." And as to the contents of Brentano's
ballad, there is precious little in it that resembles Heine's ballad,
aside from the name of the heroine, and even here the similarity is
far from striking.
And yet, despite all this, commentators continue to say that Heine
drew the initial inspiration for his "Lorelei" from Brentano. They may
be right, but no one of them has thus far produced any tenable
argument, to say nothing of positive proof. The most recent supporter
of Brentano's claim is Eduard Thorn[39] (1913), who reasons as
follows:
Heine knew Brentano's works in 1824, for in that year he borrowed
_Wunderhorn_ and _TrOesteinsamkeit_ from the library at GOettingen.
These have, however, nothing to do with Brentano's ballad, and it is
one year too late for Heine's ballad. All of Thorn's references to
Heine's _Romantische Schule_, wherein _Godwi_, incidentally, is not
mentioned, though other works are, collapse, for this was written ten
years too late. And then, to quote Thorn: "Loeben's Gedicht lieferte
das direkte Vorbild fUer Heine." He offers no proof except the
statements of Strodtmann, Hessel, and Elster to this effect.
And again: "Der Name Lorelay findet sich bei Loeben nicht als
Eigenname, wenn er auch das Gedicht, 'Der Lurleifels' Ueberschreibt."
But the name Loreley does occur[40] twice on the same page on which
the last strophe of the ballad is published in _Urania_, and here the
ballad is not entitled "Der Lurleifels," but simply "Loreley." Now,
even granting that Loeben entitled his ballad one way in the MS and
Brockhaus published it in another way in _Urania_, it is wholly
improbable that Heine saw Loeben's MS previous to 1823.
And then, after contending that Brentano's _RheinmAerchen_,[41] which,
though written before 1823, were not published until 1846, must have
given Heine the hair-combing motif, Thorn says: "Also kann nur
Brentano das Vorbild geliefert haben." This cannot be correct. What
is, on the contrary, at least possible is that Heine influenced
Brentano.[42] The _RheinmAerchen_ were finished, in first form, in
1816. And Guido GOerres, to whom Brentano willed them, and who first
published them, tells us how Brentano carried them around with him in
his satchel and changed them and polished them as opportunity was
offered and inspiration came. It is therefore reasonable to believe
that Heine helped Brentano to metamorphose his Lorelei of the ballad,
where she is wholly human, into the superhuman Lorelei of the
_RheinmAerchen_ where she does, as a matter of fact, comb her hair with
a golden comb.[43]
And now as to Loeben: Did Heine know and borrow from his ballad? Aside
from the few who do not commit themselves, and those who trace Heine's
poem direct to Brentano, and Oscar F. Walzel to be referred to later,
all commentators, so far as I have looked into the matter, say that he
did. Adolf Strodtmann said[44] it first (1868), in the following
words: "Es leidet wohl keinen Zweifel, dass Heine dies Loeben'sche
Ballade gekannt und bei Abfassung seiner Lorelei-Ballade benutzt hat."
But he produces no proof except similarity of form and content. Of the
others who have followed his lead, ten, for particular reasons, should
be authorities: Franz Muncker,[45] Karl Hessel,[46] Karl Goedeke,[47]
Wilhelm Scherer,[48] Georg MUecke,[49] Wilhelm Hertz,[50] Ernst
Elster,[51] Georg Brandes,[52] Heinrich Spiess,[53] and Herrn. Anders
KrUeger.[54] But no one of them offers any proof except Strodtmann's
statement to this effect.
Now their contention may be substantially correct; but their method of
contending is scientifically wrong. To accept, where verification is
necessary, the unverified statement of any man is wrong. And, that is
the case here. Elster's note is of peculiar interest. He says: "Heine
schloss sich am nAechsten an die Bearbeitung eines Stoffs an, die ein
Graf LOeben 1821 verOeffentlichte." The expression "ein Graf LOeben" is
grammatical evidence, though not proof, of one of two things: that
Loeben was to Elster himself in 1890 a mere name, or that Elster knew
Loeben would be this to the readers of his edition of Heine's works.
Brandes says: "Die Nachahmung ist unzweifelhaft."[55] His proof is
Strodtmann's statement, and similarity of content and form, with
special reference to the two rhymes "sitzet-blitzet" that occur in
both. But this was a very common rhyme with both Heine and Loeben in
other poems. How much importance can be attached then to similarity of
content and form?
The verse and strophe form, the rhyme scheme, the accent, the melody,
except for Heine's superiority, are the same in both. As to length,
the two poems are exactly equal, each containing, by an unimportant
but interesting coincidence, precisely 117 words.[56] But the contents
of the two poems are not nearly so similar as they apparently seemed,
at first blush, to Adolf Strodtmann. The melodious singing, the golden
hair and the golden comb and the use that is made of both, the
irresistibly sweet sadness, the time, "Aus alten Zeiten," and the
subjectivity--Heine himself recites his poem--these indispensable
essentials in Heine's poem are not in Loeben's. Indeed as to content
and of course as to merit, the two poems are far removed from each
other.
And, moreover, literary parallels are the ancestors of that undocile
child, Conjecture. We must remember that sirenic and echo poetry are
almost as old as the tide of the sea, certainly as old as the hills,
while as to the general situation, there is a passage in Milton's
_Comus_ (ll. 880-84) analogous to Heine's ballad, as follows:
And fair Ligea's golden comb,
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks,
Sleeking her soft alluring locks,
By all the nymphs that nightly dance
Upon thy streams with wily glance,
and so on. And as to the pronounced similarity of form, we must
remember that Heine was here employing his favorite measure, while
Loeben was almost the equal of Ruckert in regard to the number of
verse and strophe forms he effectively and easily controlled. In
short, striking similarity in content is lacking, and as to the same
sort of similarity in form to this but little if any significance can
be attached.
And if the internal evidence is thin, the external is invisible,
except for the fact that Loeben's ballad was published by Brockhaus,
whom Heine knew by correspondence. But between the years 1818 and
1847, Heine never published anything in _Urania_,[57] which was used
by so many of his contemporaries. Heine and Loeben never knew each
other personally, and between the years 1821 and 1823 they were never
regionally close together.[58] Heine never mentions Loeben in his
letters; nor does he refer to him in his creative works, despite the
fact that he had a habit of alluding to his brothers in Apollo, even
in his poems.[59]