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(Das ist meine Analyse der Kerkerszene (die Schlußszene) aus Goethes »Faust: Der Tragödie Erster Teil«. Wenn Sie Englisch nicht sprechen, können Sie die Folgenden auf Google übersetzen. Danke.)

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Having read some of Goethe, but also having read Faust many times over two decades, I can humbly offer that the Kerker scene in Faust Part I is, like the first movement of the 5^th symphony, perfect in its structure, immaculate in its detail, resonatingly powerful in its connections and conclusions.

Here, generations have found that theme rolls upon theme, idea falls upon idea, reality and possibility intertwine; the highest (and lowest) human things coalesce in one passionate drama with its detailed picture of existence that moves, and continues to move and improve, the greatest of minds the world over.

If you have read Faust, I must ask, and if you have not, I must tell: What facet of human existence does not figure in the Kerker scene? For the ordinary reader, drama versus reality. For Gretchen, the tragic female protagonist, Reality versus Wish. Wish versus further reality (for Mephistopheles, the truest devil we have yet seen). For the Angels, that same “further” versus the Lord’s ultimate impulse. Death and life; fear and courage. Day and night; routine and instinct. Tragedy and comedy versus resignation and disbelief. Repeats of a theme versus staccato sentimentality. Male versus female; fight versus flight; Being versus Doing. God versus the Devil, intuition versus reason, Yes against No, all presented in a physical setting that seems impossible except by divine intervention, affording four elements as I see it: The climax of the romantic drama, the setting for the ethereal beginning of Faust Part II, the ultimate meaning of romantic love, and the final pronouncement on Man’s Hand in the state of things.

Those who have not read the great man might ask, How can all this possibly come together? Those who have read Goethe might ask, if they have not dwelt upon it long enough: “The Kerker scene is the conclusion of part I, but what is superhuman about it – the superhuman being addressed, so to speak, in Part II?” To answer both those questions is the following compilation of points of comparison.

I offer these points and the following prose as a mere guide to those who might not have dwelt upon the matter long enough; Goethe did say, as we know: “Why have I sought my path with care, if not to bring my brothers there?” (Wayne’s translation.)

It is the comparisons between entities – comparisons apparent by contrasting dialogues across contexts – that are Goethe’s key to meaning here. There are a few other elements, notably individual focus:

1. Mephistopheles, the spirit of denial, is ever focused on the present, with himself as centre.

2. Faust, the aspiring but yet incomplete man, is ever focused on the future, with himself as centre – and with his unconscious focus being the power that Mephistopheles grants him.

3. Gretchen, here the archetypal woman (albeit one who is in the deepest immediate distress), is focused on past/present/future; she might have been the centre, but Faust affects all her aspects in a manner that she sees as good, but which she knows inwardly is doomed. In fact, therefore, the centre for her is the Faust/Gretchen union.

 

For the following, I am referring to the voices as in the production with Gründgens as Mephistopheles, Will Quadflieg, and Elisabeth Flickenschildt. (Quadflieg, by the way, shares my birthday.)

 

Here, then, is my listing of the dialogues in the Kerker scene most worth the reader’s attention, and where the Master’s word holds its greatest weight.

 

1.

Entering the prison cell, Faust pronounces:

FAUST: “Der Menschheit ganzer Jammer faßt mich an.” (I am gripped by the tragedy of the human condition.)

Claiming universal comprehension of some sort, Faust fails to be moved even a little by Gretchen’s individual tragedy, enormous though it is.

 

2.

Faust soon admonishes himself, noting his fear of seeing her again:

FAUST: “Du fürchtest, sie wiederzusehen!” (You’re scared of seeing her again!)

There is a parallel within the scene. Gretchen ultimately declares that his mere presence horrifies her, marking the scene – and Faust Part I – for the unparalleled tragedy that it is. Whereas Faust is focusing on his hesitation to act, Gretchen pronounces the reality behind that hesitation.

 

3.

Speaking to Gretchen, Faust has assumed his role of reassuring her:

FAUST. “Still! Still! Ich komme, dich zu befreien.”  (Quiet! Quiet! I’ve come to free you.)

The contrast here is that Gretchen had been expecting her jailers to arrive – to bind and take her away. Faust reassures her that the situation is exactly the opposite: Her lover has come to free her. But Gretchen’s resistance to her imagined jailer is less severe than her resistance to Faust later in the scene (which we shall come to), with the words she utters in each case being almost identical. In effect, if we take Gretchen’s situation as the grim reality, Faust is as far from the truth in his intentions and beliefs as he could possibly be. The tormentor is preferred over the saviour – and with good reason!

The absolute negative here is the confidence with which Faust sternly reassures Gretchen: The “Still! Still!” by Quadflieg is entirely convincing in its urgency.

 

4.

Speaking to Faust as though he were the jailor, Gretchen says:

GRETCHEN. “Bist du ein Mensch, so fühle meine Not.” (If you’re human, feel my pain!)

“Bist du ein Mensch?”? Is he, or is he not, human? Is it an ordinary question to ask if one is human/humane, or is it not? This super-play between the ordinary and the unforeseen runs through the Kerker scene: Here, the ordinary translates to a question of humaneness; the super-question is one of whether the man in question is ordinary or not.

Later in the same dialogue, Gretchen’s piteous yet poignant question appears:

“Wer hat dir Henker diese Macht / Über mich gegeben!” (Hangman, who has given you this power over me?!)

The question can plainly be divided into all its possibilities, if only Gretchen were to know the facts. Consider:

(a) As though Gretchen were asking an ordinary hangman. It is then a common-sense question of how so wretched a person as a hangman has power over a prisoner.

(b) As though Gretchen were asking the Faust of the past. The answer is, then, his charm and lust (in simple words); by this he misled her and is now, factually speaking, in a position to free her or to condemn her.

(c) As though Gretchen were asking the Faust of now. Here the answer is Mephistopheles.

If one were to tie the beginning to the end – we are reminded of “laßt dem Anfang mit dem Ende,” as Goethe urged us – common sense and deep reality become one and the same: It is the Devil that gives Faust his power. For now, at least; the story is quite different in Faust Part II.

 

5.

GRETCHEN. “Nah war der Freund, nun ist er weit” (My friend was near; now he is far away)

It is again the imaginary versus the real. In the imaginary (surreal?) world, Faust is far away; in the immediate world, he is here, which points to the fact that Gretchen is hallucinating. In the ultimate analysis, however, Faust is far (weit) because of his purpose, his orientation, his obligation.

 

6.

GRETCHEN. “Faße mich nicht so gewaltsam an!” (Don’t hold me so forcefully!)

This is one of the centrepieces of the scene. Elisabeth Flickenschildt’s voice is perfect here with its urgency and indignance: To the jailor, Gretchen says “nicht so gewaltsam.” To Faust in the end, this very line becomes “nicht so mörderisch,” as though confirming to us that we are to compare Faust with the imaginary hangman. Only, the imaginary and literal hangman is to Gretchen less terrible than the real Faust – who is, at first thought, unfathomably – in the same role.

 

7.

In the very next line, Gretchen protests to the hangman: “Was hab ich dir getan?” (What have I done to you?)

Towards the close, Gretchen says in a different context, in the context of closing her own confession: “… dir alles zulieb getan” (I have done everything out of love for you). The reader must take the lines together. Madness is because of the separation, where Gretchen imagines her tormentor to be a physical jailor while Faust is her lover, her saviour, her present reality.

 

8.

FAUST: “Werd ich den Jammer überstehen!” (I will survive and overcome all that has happened!)

The declaration would have been noble; indeed, it is noble as of now. It is still noble a minute from now, when he declares that he has come “die Jammerknechtschaft aufzuschließen” (to completely remove your bondage). A few minutes show not only that he is incapable of this, but also that he is not even courageous enough. It is entirely Mephistopheles’ strength being drawn upon.

 

9.

A few lines later, Gretchen, lapsing into what seems her insanity, reveals her idea of reality to Faust:

“…Unter der Schwelle, siedet die Hölle!” (Hell boils underneath.)

Here, it is clear, her lack of clarity shows her the truth. Mephistopheles is indeed lurking outside the prison door. In Goethe’s supreme scheme, nothing must contradict what is visible. The apparent, the real, the omen, the vision, the madness, the reality, the physical, the intangible, must all point to the same “Ur-Phänomen,” the “pre-phenomenon”: the basic reality.

 

10.

“Er rief Gretchen! Er stand auf der Schwelle.
Mitten durchs Heulen und Klappen der Hölle,
Durch den grimmigen, teuflischen Hohn
Erkannt ich den süßen, den liebenden Ton.”

(He said my name… he stands between hell and the howling sounds … in the midst of all this, I hear his sweet voice.)

Much can be said about the centrality of what Gretchen says here; I shall limit myself to pointing out that here, the dual-nature of Gretchen’s speech throughout the Kerker scene – moving back and forth between reality (but which is ultimately not true for her) and imagination (which ultimately is the truth for her), between meaning (which is apparent but temporary) and madness (which is frightening but more real than what seems to make sense) – is at its starkest.

In physical terms, Faust’s voice (which Gretchen is speaking about) is literally between the Devil (standing outside the prison door) and her; it literally emerges, as a saviour to her, from the howling of hell (which the prison and its atmosphere seems to be for her). Faust’s voice comes out of the darkness to save her, but in actuality, it cannot; the “sweet sound” she refers to is ultimately (and, in fact, immanently) her undoing.

 

11.

Immediately thereafter come Faust’s urgent declaration:

“Ich bin’s!”  (It’s me! OR, more dramatically, “It’s me you’re looking for!”)

For now, these words, though simple, are false: Faust cannot save Gretchen. Only much later – in fact, as late as at the end of Part II – does Faust turn out to be the one Gretchen has been waiting for.

 

12.

After Gretchen recognises the voice as Faust’s, and goes off into a little realm of sentimentality, Faust’s words – only one exhortation – are of interest because they suspiciously echo those of Mephistopheles at the end of the scene and of Part I:

“Komm mit! Komm mit!” (Come on! Come on! OR Come with me! Come with me!)

There might have been nothing to read into this were it not for the fact that some minutes later, Mephistopheles is in a position to say “Her zu mir!” (Come to me!) to Faust – in which Gretchen is left out.

 

13.

GRETCHEN: “O weile Weil ich doch so gern, wo du weilest.” (ROUGH TRANSLATION: Please be with me here; I like it when you’re near.)

This, from Gretchen, serves to remind the reader that this one scene brings together all the pieces of the drama thus far; once reminded, the reader is full aware that each word is to be noted.

What Gretchen says is the exact opposite of what Faust’s pact with Mephistopheles is about; in that sense, Gretchen and Faust may be seen as polar opposites – as verified by Faust’s words immediately following: “Eile!” (“Rush!” OR “Move!”) Taken in this sense, Gretchen fits into Faust’s scheme of not lingering in the moment.

It is, however, presented in an absolutely contrasting frame of time and space: Here, Faust would actually do well to sit awhile; he would do well (in the ultimate sense) to linger in this space and not move at all, because outside, Mephistopheles awaits him.

Such dramatic contrast – a contrast not just between the emotions but between fact and reality, within not just one person but within two at the same time, both in the same physical space but in no less than different universes – mark the Kerker scene as the greatest micro-drama ever penned.

 

14.

GRETCHEN: Warum wird mir an deinem Halse so bang?
Wenn sonst von deinen Worten, deinen Blicken
Ein ganzer Himmel mich überdrang…”

(NON-LITERAL, DRAMATIC TRANSLATION: “Why do I feel so uneasy as I hug you? There was a time when your words, even just your gaze, would open up the heavens for me…”)

There is no conflict here; I mention this dialogue only because of the heart-rending emotion Elisabeth Flickenschildt infuses into it. Also, here is one of the few places in the Kerker scene where Gretchen is neither being insane nor hateful, nor sentimental to the point of incomprehension; she is being human.

 

15.

FAUST: “Komm! Folge mir! …”  (Come! Follow me!)

It is interesting that for much of the scene, Faust has been saying just this much: that Gretchen to follow him, to escape with him. In fact, much else that he says leads to the same point: “Follow me.” This is, to the very root, exactly what Mephistopheles has been saying!

In other words, it might appear that Faust, in all that he says in the Kerker scene, is accomplishing nothing but echoing Mephistopheles.

 

16.

GRETCHEN: “Und weißt du denn, mein Freund, wen du befreist?”  (But do you know, my friend, whom you are trying to free?)

Throughout the scene, Gretchen alternates between reality and fantasy; here is one of the best examples (within the scene) of her ties to reality – deeper, it may be noted, than Faust’s. She asks whether Faust is aware of the danger he faces if he were to help her in her current (imprisoned) state; this, despite her own benefit were she to be indeed freed. But on the face of it, as through the scene, Gretchen still seems insane when she asks this!

 

17.

FAUST: “Komm! komm! schon weicht die tiefe Nacht.”  (Come! Come! The night is soon passing.)

The theme of the night (which belongs to Mephistopheles) versus the day (which belongs to the Lord, to the “guter Mensch” the Lord refers to in the Prologue) repeats itself through the scene, its strength being that it is always only a word. Never does Goethe resort to dramatic clichés such as, one might say, “The dark night gives way into the bright day,” or anything of the sort; the drama is in the contrasts within the manner in which the three participants of the scene refer to night and day. “Schon weicht die tiefe Nacht” (the night will soon pass), “Der Morgen dämmert auf” (the dawn is breaking), and more: All refer to the same thing – Daybreak. But they differ in tone, in intent, and most of all, in the words themselves. Examples will follow.

 

18.

FAUST: “Laß das Vergangne vergangen sein, …”

A minute later comes this quick dismissal from Faust: “Let the past be.” This is perhaps one of the most ridiculous utterances in the entire drama; it is hypocritical, unreal, selfish, and insensitive while being seemingly useful; it is contextually distorting and self-contradictory while seemingly philosophical. This is Faust at his worst; rather, it is the old Faust – Faust the Professor – at his worst while in the real world.

 

19.

GRETCHEN. “O Heinrich, könnt ich mit!”  (O Heinrich, would that I could! OR O Heinrich, I wish I could!)

As in #14 above, there is no conflict here; the emotion Elisabeth Flickenschildt infuses into this little speech makes it for me, personally, the most profoundly sad words of the entire scene. (“If only I could!”) Words are unnecessary where a voice speaks, but to play with words, Flickenschildt’s voice conveys factuality, resignation and pathos at the same time, within the space of three words.

 

20.

GRETCHEN: Es ist so elend, betteln zu müssen
Und noch dazu mit bösem Gewissen!
Es ist so elend, in der Fremde schweifen
Und sie werden mich doch ergreifen!

(“It is so miserable to have to beg, and furthermore, to do so with a bad conscience! It is miserable to wander around in strange places, with the possibility of still being caught!”)

What Gretchen describes here – her fate, if she were to be free in her current state of having had an illegitimate child – parallels that of Faust. Faust is, and has been for some time, the servant of the Devil; he does not beg in the literal sense, but figuratively, all his desires he must submit to him. And all the while, he wanders (as best exemplified in the Walpurgisnacht scene) “in der Fremde” – foreign, unknown, unfriendly places, while always in danger of being revealed to be powerless.

Gretchen’s fate, if free, is real, physical; it is what she describes here. Faust’s fate, if free (as he perceives himself – and himself alone – to be) is in the world that Mephistopheles has created. They run parallel.

 

21.

FAUST: “Ich bleibe bei dir.”  (I will be by your side.)

This, as in #18 above, is falsity on the part of the most learned man alive; he promises to be “by her side,” which he has never been able to be; which he is not even as he speaks (for he depends on her antithesis for his existence and power); and which he cannot be on account of his indebtedness to that antithesis and on account of his own reality.

 

22.

GRETCHEN: “Sie winkt nicht, sie nickt nicht, der Kopf ist ihr schwer,
Sie schlief so lange, sie wacht nicht mehr.
Sie schlief, damit wir uns freuten.
Es waren glückliche Zeiten!”

(My mother’s eyes and head are still; her head is a weight upon her. She slept so long that she didn’t wake up. She slept so that we could enjoy ourselves. Those were wonderful times!)

At this point, towards the end of the drama, through words the reader is taken beyond the realm of words: What Gretchen says here is too complex to analyse, too sad for one to wish to analyse to the extreme. Suffice it to say that, while explaining to Faust what she has done to her own mother (poisoned her with a substance prescribed by the learned doctor himself, and which has resulted in her death), she lapses into the reality she shares with Faust: “Those were happy times.”

Melodrama and guilt, on the one hand, blend here with a sentimental recollection that maintains the necessary bond with reality. It is so complex, the opposites of emotion and fact so utterly interwoven, that as the reader’s eyes well up, the image of the master dramatist and poet rises ever stronger in the mind’s eye.

 

23.

FAUST: “Hilft hier kein Flehen, hilft kein Sagen, / So wag ich’s, dich hinwegzutragen.” (If my pleading and explanations are of no use, I think I’m going to take you away by force.)

GRETCHEN: “Laß mich! Nein, ich leide keine Gewalt! / Fasse mich nicht so mörderisch an!” (Let me be! I won’t allow any force! Don’t hold me in this murderous way!)

And this is the physical culmination point of the drama, where Gretchen speaks more strongly to her lover than she did to the prison guard she imagined.

To the prison guard she had said, “Fasse mich nicht so gewaltsam an!” (Don’t hold me so forcefully!) That “gewaltsam” (forcefully) is here “mörderisch” (in a murderous way). Here is the final, the bitterest, the most damning pronouncement possible upon Faust’s actions: He is worse to her than the prison guard from whom he has come to free her. (Gretchen’s final pronouncement upon Faust’s existence comes a few lines later.)

 

24.

FAUST: “Der Tag graut! …”  (The day is breaking!)

Faust, still insistent upon the escape, states that they must leave soon. “Der Tag graut” is a perfectly normal way of saying that the day is breaking, but the choice of word – “graut” (“turns from dark to grey”) versus “dämmert” (dawns), for example, could be an indication of the state of affairs within Faust’s internal world. Goethe might have intended that for Faust, the dawn seems grey instead of bright; “grau” means “grey.”

Contrast with Mephistopheles’ complaint, soon to come: “Der Morgen dämmert auf.” (The day is dawning.)

 

25.

GRETCHEN: “…der letzte Tag dringt herein…” (DRAMATIC TRANSLATION: The last day comes upon us.)

She echoes what Faust says as fact; for her, in her reality that seems a fantasy, it is the last day. (It might not be, were she to follow Faust.) This is almost the tenth mention of the words “day” and “night,” in the context of the transition. The transition reflects the transition in Faust; it also reflects the transition, not yet complete, of Part I of the Tragedy to Part II.

 

26.

GRETCHEN: “Stumm liegt die Welt wie das Grab!”  (Silent lies the world, as silent as the grave! OR  Still lies the world, grave-like.)

This ends Gretchen’s delineation of her world. Her speech is over; she speaks again only because Mephistopheles emerges from outside the prison door.

FAUST: “O wär ich nie geboren!”  (Would that I had never been born! OR I wish I had never been born!)

Faust has crumbled; it is the immediate reaction to Gretchen’s statement about the world now being akin to the grave. By itself, it is only a reaction; it is of the utmost significance – in fact, perhaps the most significant statement in the entire scene from the point of view of time. At this precise moment, when Faust’s will has weakened, Mephistopheles emerges.

For all the scene, Faust has urged Gretchen to come with him; at the moment that Faust loses heart – at the moment he moves back into his nihilism – the Devil appears with unimpeded sovereignty, with an impudence that defies description.

MEPHISTOPHELES: “Auf! oder ihr seid verloren.
Unnützes Zagen! Zaudern und Plaudern!
Mein Pferde schaudern,
Der Morgen dämmert auf.”

(NON-LITERAL TRANSLATION: Come on out, otherwise you’re lost! Worries, vacillation, small talk! My horses are shivering… it’s almost dawn!)

His words are deliberately crude, ruthlessly uncaring. They are true to fact, but the point is that he could have come into the prison room earlier; his entry at this precise point indicates much more than urgency.

His intent is to ridicule, to subdue Gretchen, to mock and undermine Faust’s spirit.

 

27.

GRETCHEN: “Was steigt aus dem Boden herauf?”  (What is that rising up from the ground?)

The word here, “Was” (what) as opposed to “Wer” (who) says more than the sentence itself. For Gretchen, in this moment, Mephistopheles seems to be an apparition, not Faust’s corporeal companion. She knows him well, but she now says “what” instead of “who.” Within that difference lies the entire matter: Gretchen knows, in her confused way, everything that is going on.

The apparition fills her with a hatred that defies rational thought. In the lines that follow, she identifies Mephistopheles as Faust’s companion, the one she has distrusted all along; perhaps even the one at the root of her fate, insofar as she is bound to Faust.

 

28.

FAUST: “Du sollst leben!”  (You shall live!)

By this time, the reader has learnt to accept that Faust’s voice is scarcely his own; this is Mephistopheles speaking. What might Faust, on his own, possibly mean by this? If he were trying to save her, it is in vain, for she has recognised the evil behind the scene; if he were trying to reassure her, it is meaningless, for she has already declared (and Faust has accepted) that she shall not move away from the prison with him.

Mephistopheles is, for the first time, completely in control – except that Gretchen can (as she does) give herself up to the Lord.

 

29.

GRETCHEN: “Gericht Gottes! dir hab ich mich übergeben!” (Lord, I give myself up for you to judge me!)

MEPHISTOPHELES (to Faust): “Komm! komm! Ich lasse dich mit ihr im Stich.” (Come! Come! Otherwise I’ll leave you with her in this hole.)

GRETCHEN: “Dein bin ich, Vater! Rette mich!
Ihr Engel! Ihr heiligen Scharen,
Lagert euch umher, mich zu bewahren!
Heinrich! Mir graut’s vor dir.”

(I am yours, Father! Save me! You angels, you heavenly hosts, stay to protect me! Heinrich, you horrify me.)

To summarise up to this point: Gretchen gives up all hope, declaring the world a grave; Faust loses heart, wishing that he “had never been born”; at that moment, the spirit of evil rises up in full power, taking over the scene. Gretchen, initially horrified at the apparition, gives herself up to the Lord, at the same time ending the drama in the worst possible way – or, shall we say, in the most tragic of ways: To declare that she loathes and dreads her lover, while he stands in front of her still declaring himself her saviour. The path for Mephistopheles is clear.

 

30.

MEPHISTOPHELES: “Sie ist gerichtet!”  (She has been judged!)

VOICE FROM ABOVE: “Ist gerettet!”  (She is saved!)

Mephistopheles seeks victory. Here it is as though the Lord (from the Prologue) has intervened for the first time, for we must assume that the voice is from the heavenly hosts: He says that Gretchen is saved, and therefore, that Mephistopheles has lost this battle.

MEPHISTOPHELES (to Faust): “Her zu mir!”  (Come here to me! OR Hither to me! OR Here, here! To me, this way!)

Gründgens’ voice here powerfully captures the essence of what is being said. It is not a mere directive, which one might say to a person in the vicinity; it is about absolute direction. In this direction, Faust moves away from Gretchen and her fate, and towards nothing in particular – only to Mephistopheles himself.

In terms of the physical drama, it is in the opposite direction, with Gretchen inside, Faust somewhere in the middle, and Mephistopheles waiting outside with his horse carriage.

Figuratively, since Gretchen has given herself up to the Lord, going “to him” would mean, for Faust, going away from the Lord. The drama is complete.

Faust is helpless; he must follow the command.

As Gretchen might see it, Faust is lost. As Mephistopheles might see it, his power has prevailed. As the Lord might see it, we might say here what He said in the Prologue: “Ein guter Mensch, in seinem dunklen Drange, ist stets immer den rechten Weges wohl bewußt.” (A worthy man, in his dark struggle, is ever aware of the right path.)

 

31.

VOICE FROM WITHIN, FAILING: “Heinrich! Heinrich!”

Gretchen, in spirit, will meet Faust again – also in spirit – only at the end of Part II.

I found this on a Site whose Address I do not recall:

“In 1870, Richard Wagner wrote an essay commemorating the one hundredth anniversary of Beethoven’s birth, in which he suggested that Beethoven’s music was fundamentally different from what had come before. It was as if the medium itself had found in Beethoven a new set of resources:

‘Surveying the historical advance which the art of Music made through Beethoven, we may define it as the winning of a faculty withheld from her before: in virtue of that acquisition she mounted far beyond the region of the aesthetically Beautiful, into the sphere of the Sublime.’

“Fifty years earlier E T A Hoffmann, the author and music critic, had used the same word, “sublime,” to convey similar sentiments. Beethoven, Hoffmann wrote, is the “sublimest” of composers: his music “induces terror, fright, horror and pain.” It “awakens that endless longing which is the essence of romanticism,” “opens the realm of the colossal and immeasurable,” and “leads the listener away into the wonderful spiritual realm of the infinite.”

I have nothing to offer today save this wonderful Fragment from Festschrift on Beethoven, by Richard Wagner, who described himself, incidentally, as “the most German of Men.” The Festschrift itself, also incidentally, has been described as “herrlich” (splendid).

The Fragment is about Op. 131, the greatest of all Beethoven’s Works. Wagner pictures the Master Composition in his mind’s Eye, and it is of Interest because no-one who listens to Op. 131 would disagree with that Picture:

If we would set before ourselves the picture of a day from our “holy one’s” life, we scarce could gain a better than from one of those marvellous tone-pieces themselves; though, not to deceive ourselves, we must follow the course we adopted when referring the genesis of Music as an art to the phenomenon of the Dream, that is to say, employing it as a mere analogy, and not identifying one thing with the other. In illustration of such a veritable day from Beethoven’s inmost life I will choose the great C-sharp minor Quartet [Op. 131 No. 14]: and what we scarce could do while listening to it, as we then are forced to leave behind all cut-and-dry comparisons and give ourselves entirely to the direct revelation from another world, we may find attainable in a measure when conjuring up this tone-poem in our memory. Even thus, however, I must leave the reader’s phantasy to supply the living details of the picture. and therefore simply offer the assistance of a skeleton outline.

The lengthy opening Adagio, surely the saddest thing ever said in notes, I would term the awaking on the dawn of a day “that in its whole long course shall ne’er fulfil one wish, not one wish !” Yet it is alike a penitential prayer, a communing with God in firm belief of the Eternal Goodness. –The inward eye then traces the consoling vision (Allegro 6/8), perceptible by it alone, in which that longing becomes a sweet but plaintive playing with itself: the image of the inmost dream takes waking form as a loveliest remembrance. And now (with the short transitional Allegro moderato) ’tis as if the master, grown conscious of his art, were settling to work at his magic; its re-summoned force he practices (Andante 2/4) on the raising of one graceful figure, the blessed witless of inherent innocence, to find a ceaseless rapture in that figure’s never-ending, never-heard-of transformation by the prismatic changes of the everlasting light he casts thereon. –Then we seem to see him, profoundly gladdened by himself, direct his radiant glances to the outer world (Presto 2/2): once more it stands before him as in the Pastoral Symphony, all shining with his inner joy; ’tis as though he heard the native accents of the appearances that move before him in a rhythmic dance, now blithe now blunt (derb). He looks on Life, and seems to ponder (short Adagio 3/4) how to set about the tune for Life itself to dance to: a brief but gloomy brooding, as if the master were plunged in his soul’s profoundest dream. One glance has shown him the inner essence of the world again: he wakes, and strikes the strings into a dance the like whereof the world had never heard (Allegro finale). ‘Tis the dance of the whole world itself: wild joy, the wail of pain, love’s transport, utmost bliss, grief, frenzy, riot, suffering; the lightning flickers, thunders growl: and above it the stupendous fiddler who bans and bends it all, who leads it haughtily from whirlwind into whirlpool, to the brink of the abyss;–he smiles at himself, for to him this sorcery was the merest play. –And night beckons him. His day is done.–

Schubert And Sadness
June, 2000

One cannot stop marvelling at the Ability of the Mind to retain what is essential and discard what is not. Of course, it is a fundamental and well-documented Phenomenon, but one cannot stop marvelling.

One Remark I read somewhere, sometime, attributed to Goethe — that the Fifth Symphony was “subversive to Civilisation” — made no sense to me whatsoever when I first read it. I was not even sure of the Meaning of “subversive.” And it was not a remark someone had made in a memorable Context; it was just one Sentence out of hundreds, in whatever it was that I was reading — a Book, or Essay, or whatever it was.

But it stuck. And although I have thought a lot about it in Connection with the Fifth Symphony and come to certain Conclusions, it still sticks, and I often think about the Subversiveness of a lot of the “great Music” that is our Heritage.

Schubert is the God of Sadness. I doubt whether any Composition (except for the Trout) by Schubert in any major Key has had any Impact on me. (And even in the Trout, the most lyrical Parts are in the minor.) And, as I have written elsewhere, the “Sadness” Schubert evokes is not anything earthly; it is beyond; it is on a plane where the sadness almost transcends human Nature and Feeling itself. As I have said, a lot of Schubert is infinitely sad. And Schubert offers no Hope. Whereas Brahms is human, whereas Mozart is affirmative of the Love that will ultimately redeem, whereas the Master seeks the Answer from within, and not only affirms that the Answer lies within, but also, in his Egotism, provides it for us — Schubert provides no Answer, no Redemption, no Hope.

We weep with Schubert. To put it in the simplest of Words, the Beauty of Schubert’s music is greater than the Beauty of most Things that this World can provide; and captivated by that Beauty, we lose ourselves in it, are held by it, and cannot escape — for the simple Reason that we do not want to. And in that State, we worsen our Suffering: we tend to forget our original saddening Emotion and take in the more perfect, ethereal Vision of Schubert’s; and in so doing, we do two things. We go away from ourselves, and, we raise our Sadness to the level that we normally reserve for Monads like Perfection and Infinity.

And, doing this on a repetitive Basis, — since we have electronic Devices that make it so easy and convenient, — we fall into “Schubert’s Trap”, although he did not intend it that Way; and that is hell. For, instead of overcoming our Grief, we have found a Reason – namely, Schubert – to perpetuate it. And we return to it in a manner similar to the way we return to TV Reruns in order to deaden our Senses: we return to something while knowing the Outcome of the Experience, and that is Hell.

My original intent here was to talk about Herbst, in Schwanengesang. The Lyrics, if one may call them that (!) were written by someone called Ludwig Rellstab. Here are the Lyrics, with my own rhyming Translation:

Es rauschen die Winde so herbstlich und kalt;
Verödet die Fluren, entblättert der Wald.
Ihr blumigen Auen! Du sonniges Grün!
So welken die Blüten des Lebens dahin.
Es ziehen die Wolken so finster und grau;
Verschwunden die Sterne am himmlischen Blau!
Ach wie die Gestirne am Himmel entflieh’n,
So sinket die Hoffnung des Lebens dahin!
Ihr Tage des Lenzes mit Rosen geschmückt,
Wo ich die Geliebte ans Herze gedrückt!
Kalt über den Hügel, rauscht, Winde, dahin!
So sterben die Rosen der Liebe dahin!

[ The winds gust so autumnal and cold;
The Fields get barren, the leafless Woods behold.
But O you flowery Meadows! O Verdure sun-filled!
Thus the Blossoms of Life do wilt.

The Clouds above drift so gloomy and grey;
From the blue of the Heavens the Stars go away.
Ah, just as the Stars in the Sky get overcast,
So does the Hope of Life sink fast.

O days of Spring with Roses adorned,
When I pressed my Love to my Breast so fond!
Cold Winds, now, over the Hill, rush, fly!
Thus, then, do Love’s Roses die. ]

Hardly evocative of any profound poetic Imagery. One could have written such Verse when one was ten Years old, except that one might not have been negative enough to do so.

But Schubert’s Herbst is, simply speaking, one of his most beautiful Lieder; and one of the most beautiful Pieces of Music, for its Length, that I have listened to.
One cannot even say in rebuttal that I, the writer, probably identifies with these Lyrics more than other people do; these Lyrics are so very simple that anyone except the most unfeeling among us can identify, in a Sense, with these. These Words convey a simple Truth: that in this Life, Hopes sink, Loves die, and Love dies.

Such childishly simple Lyrics. “Just as the Stars disappear, so does Hope sink.”
Possibly the only poetic Device beyond plain rhyme that we can see is the Change from “Life” to “Love” in the third and last Stanza.

Why did Schubert choose these Lyrics to set to such exquisitely beautiful and painful Music?

Is it that, perhaps, the profoundest Pain is to be found in the plainest Facts?

Was it that the Negative in these Lyrics is found in the rawest of Words, “wilt,” “sink,” “die” — which are also a favourite of Schubert’s in so many of his Lieder, including Die schöne Müllerin and Winterreise?

We have almost gotten used to these Words by now: “Bächlien,” “welken,” “Lenz,” “Winter,” and so on. Schubert repeatedly and unashamedly infuses these simplest of Words with the profoundest of musical Feeling.

Or is it a quality of the German Language? Or perhaps of the German Mind that shuns verbal Complexity? German certainly is a more “homely” Language than ours, but why is it that the greatest and saddest of Schubert’s Lieder use such a limited Vocabulary, and Verse so utterly limited in terms of poetic Imagery?

The Simplicity of the Lyrics apart, one must speak of the Effect of the Music itself. Admittedly, it is a saddened Mind that gravitates to such morose Music, but the Effect is inexplicable, except that one can say that in this musical experience — these simple Lyrics set to such profoundly moving Melodies — one’s Consciousness is raised to a Level higher than the Sadness that draws us to it, but not transcending the realm of Sadness as a whole; one is raised, but profoundly sad. As I have said, one weeps with Schubert.

Why then does one return to the Experience?

“Laugh and the World laughs with you, cry and you cry alone”; and crying while not alone is an Experience some of us crave at various times. Schubert fulfils this Need of ours.

“A shoulder to cry on”; this is something Schubert provides; but what of the Fact that he makes the Experience so beautiful that we do not seek to go away from it, to overcome the initial Sadness?

Is it because of the Aspect of pure Beauty, which Schubert incidentally happens to be able to express only in these, his saddest Songs? I do not think so; there is a definite craving involved here. When the world and its Sadness overwhelms us, we “return” to Schubert again and again, and in Schubert we find a towering, transcendental Companion: and suddenly, all is well, because here is one who is so vital, and yet has understood that which makes us cry.

Is this not like Tobacco, or anything addictive: that which heals for now is the same as that which destroys from within? Does not this Obsession with Schubert destroy, or at least eat away at our vital Feelings, making us believe that all the World is as painful as Schubert makes it seem?

Is not the role of a Creator to show us how beautiful the World is, so that we may rejoice that we are here? But then what is Schubert doing? And what is any Creator doing, who paints suffering on a Canvas of Beauty?

One may read Schopenhauer, for example, — who offers no hope, — without such Confusion, since it is our rational Mind in control. We do not love Schopenhauer; we merely read him and either agree or disagree. But as for Schubert, we allow him into our hearts. Does Schubert remain a festering Wound, a Wound we do not care to heal because it is so beautiful?

Is the sado-masochistic complex involved here? But how do we reconcile Masochism with transcendental Beauty?

We have now come upon a much more difficult, disturbing Question: why do we listen to Music at all?

For simple Sounds, like most of modern “Music”, the answer is simple: our sense of Melody enables us to reach, through a listening of the Sounds, a simple Emotion that we wish to feel: cheerfulness, or defiant detachment, or some such.

For great music, there is no simple answer. Often, it is, as I have said in another essay — “Beethoven and the God-Conception” — a desire to listen to our own, inner Wills reflected in the outer World, and the Fact that the listening provides the illusion that we have willed something. Often it is a Desire to transport ourselves into a more perfect World where Beauty rules. But the Answers are not simple. Even harder is the Question, “Which music should we listen to, and which not?”

Alan Watts comes to mind: in his book “The Book,” where he explores Infinity, Suffering, Spirituality, and so on and so forth — all things that matter, — and that book is a remarkable Effort since he discusses so much in the Space of less than a hundred and fifty Pages, acting as a Bridge between East and West, — in “The Book,” Watts makes reference to eastern versus western Music. Music, he says, “should not” emphasise so much “the End”, and “the Conclusion”; that it should flow with the Tao, that it should respect the Movement of life as it really is. He makes special Mention of Beethoven’s late Sonatas, where, as is well known, the entire Sonata exists for the Purpose of the Finale. In the sonata in A major, for example, the first two movements are three and five Minutes long, while the “Finale” is thirteen Minutes long. It pounds on the final theme, in variations that seem, in the first few Listenings, to be almost the same statement over and over.

The late sonatas, and especially that one, are extreme examples. But one Thought that may be valuable is this: that perhaps those two or three Creators — Beethoven, Schubert, and — perhaps Mozart in a couple of Places — reached a new Level of Expression in Music, one that was not meant to be. That might sound bizarre, but does make Sense. Perhaps Music as a Vehicle of self-expression was not meant to carry so much of the “Image of the Will” (my term). And perhaps Beethoven and Schubert have made us experience Things that we as natural human Beings were not meant to experience.

This is something along the lines of the apparent fact that humans were not “meant” to experience the Visions brought on by synthetic Substances such as LSD. I would therefore call some key Compositions — most by Beethoven and Schubert — “extreme” Music: and I will call my Question this – “Why do we listen to extreme Music?”

My questions remain, and although I will look for Answers, I continue to listen to Lieder like Herbst when the Sadness of the World pushes me to seek a Companion.

The Questions are complex, but sometimes they seem simple.

In the third Stanza, the Baritone’s voice drops, and we are reminded of “die Tage des Lenzes” (the days of spring):

“Ihr Tage des Lenzes mit Rosen geschmückt,
Wo ich die Geliebte ans Herze gedrückt!”

And there come back to us vivid images of the Beloved, and of Spring, “when we clasped her to our Breast.” Images, from our own Past, or from Schubert?

And then the bitter, rasping lines:
“Kalt über den Hügel, rauscht, Winde, dahin!”

[“Blow, Winds, over the Hill, rush, there!]

The cold Winds do not seem bitter any more; we have transcended them. They are enveloped by Schubert’s Love; God-like, he protects us from the cold Winds that freeze and deaden our Love. And then:

“So sterben die Rosen der Liebe dahin!”
[“Thus die away the Roses of Love!”]

In that stretching “ste – e- e – rben”, we are in touch with our inmost selves; beyond Events, beyond the World; in Sadness, we are at one with Schubert and with our Creator.

The line repeats –
“So sterben die Rosen der Liebe dahin!”

And we are left feeling — feeling nothing; we are beyond everything, even beyond Sadness now; we are in Awe. We look straight at the Source of all Feeling, and we are calm.

For that Feeling, for that Experience, is why we do it; this repetitive “going back.” And is that Intent true, genuine and beautiful?

If we go by Goethe’s pragmatic Dictum: “Only that which is fruitful is true”, then, no.

But when we look at the sublime Elevations we attain, even if only temporarily, then, yes.

Perhaps at these heights, “the Coin” flips, and Sadness and Joy become one.
Perhaps Schubert knew that.
Perhaps it is as simple as that.
I do not know.