[syndicate] The Confessio Amantis of Friedrich Schiller

[jeff harrison]

AESTHETIC EDUCATION, FIRST LETTER 


And thus for Pompe and for beyete 
The Scribe and ek the Pharisee 
Of Moises upon the See 

immemorial pronouncements of Common Reason, and as data of that moral instinct which Nature in her wisdom appointed 

thei scholden hele; 
And what Schep that is full of wulle 
Upon his back, thei toose and pulle, 
Whil ther is eny thing to pile: 
And thogh ther be non other skile 
Bot only for thei wolden wynne, 
Thei leve noght, whan thei begynne, 
Upon her acte to procede, 
Which is no good schepherdes dede. 

of discretion. But it is precisely this technical form, whereby truth is made manifest to the intellect, which veils it again from our feeling. For alas! intellect must first destroy the object of Inner Sense if it would make it its own. Like the analytical chemist, the philosopher can only discover how things are combined by analysing them, only lay bare the workings of spontaneous Nature by subjecting them to the torment of his own techniques. In order to lay hold of the fleeting phenomenon, he must first bind it in the fetters of rule, tear its fair body to pieces by reducing it to concepts, and preserve its living spirit in a sorry skeleton of words. Is it any wonder that natural feeling cannot find itself again in such an image, or that in the account of the analytical thinker truth should appear as 

Bot he that made ferst the Mone, 
The hyhe god, of his goodnesse, 
If ther be cause, he it redresce. 


* 


ON THE SUBLIME 


The sublime object is of a dual sort. We refer it either to our 

For every worldes thing is vein, 
And evere goth the whiel aboute, 
And evere stant a man in doute, 
Fortune stant no while stille, 
So hath ther noman al his wille. 
Als fer as evere a man may knowe, 
Ther lasteth nothing bot a throwe; 

as a power against which our own dwindles to nothing 

So may be seker non astat, 
Now hier now ther, now to now fro, 
Now up now down, this world goth so, 
And evere hath don and evere schal: 

the Occasion of a painful awareness of our limitations, still we do not run away from it, but rather are drawn to it by an irresistible force. Would this be even possible if the limits of our imagination were at the same time the limits of our power of apprehension? Would we so gladly accede to the reminder of the overwhelming power of natural forces if we did not possess something else in reserve which need not fall prey to 

To Daniel his drem he tolde, 
And preide him faire that he wolde 
Arede what it tokne may; 
And seide: "Abedde wher I lay, 
Me thoghte I syh upon a Stage 
Wher stod a wonder strange ymage. 
His hed with al the necke also 
Thei were of fin gold bothe tuo; 
His brest, his schuldres and his armes 
Were al of selver, bot the tharmes, 
The wombe and al doun to the kne, 
Of bras thei were upon to se; 
The legges were al mad of Stiel, 
So were his feet also somdiel, 
And somdiel part to hem was take 
Of Erthe which men Pottes make; 
The fieble meynd was with the stronge, 
So myhte it wel noght stonde longe. 

We delight in the sensuously infinite because we are able to think what the senses can no longer apprehend and the understanding can no longer comprehend. We are ravished by the terrifying because we are able to will that which our sensuous impulses are appalled by, and can reject what they desire. We gladly permit the imagination to meet its master in the realm of appearances because ultimately it is only a sensuous faculty that triumphs over other sensuous faculties; but nature in her entire boundlessness cannot impinge upon the absolute greatness within ourselves. We gladly subordinate our 

The world of Selver was begonne 
And that of gold was passed oute: 
And in this wise it goth aboute 
In to the Regne of Darius; 
And thanne it fell to Perse thus, 
That Alisaundre put hem under, 
Which wroghte of armes many a wonder, 
So that the Monarchie lefte 
With Grecs, and here astat uplefte, 
And Persiens gon under fote 


* 


ON THE USE OF THE CHORUS IN TRAGEDY 


A poetical work must 

of Selver and of Gold 
The world is passed and agon, 
And now upon his olde ton 
It stant of brutel Erthe and 

the poet may labor according to an ideal — that the critic may judge from ideas, but 

whiche acorden nevere a diel; 

Everyone expects from the imaginative arts a certain emancipation from the bounds of reality: we are willing to give a scope to fancy, and recreate ourselves with 

I not hou charite may stonde, 
Wher dedly werre is take on honde. 
Bot al this wo is cause of man, 
The which that wit and reson can, 
And that in tokne and in witnesse 
That ilke ymage bar liknesse 
Of man and of non other beste. 

plastic imaginative power 

Was every creature ordeined, 
Bot afterward it was restreigned: 
Whan that he fell, thei fellen eke, 
Whan he wax sek, thei woxen seke; 
For as the man hath passioun 
Of seknesse, in comparisoun 
So soffren othre creatures 

It is well-known that the Greek tragedy had its origin in the chorus; and though in process of time it became independent, still it may be said that poetically, and in spirit, the chorus was the source of its existence, and that without these persevering supporters and witnesses of the incident a totally different order of poetry would have grown out of the drama. The abolition of the chorus, and the debasement of this sensibly powerful organ into the characterless substitute of a confidant, is by no means such an improvement in the tragedy as the French, and their imitators, would 

Is to an Angel resemblable, 
And lich to beste he hath fielinge, 
And lich to Trees he hath growinge; 
The Stones ben and so 

I have divided it into two parts 

 
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