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He also found much to blame for reading Tieck, although he read with developed virtuosity and the most decided success. He even spoke to him of the ability to read the tragic, of course, his simple tone was much too weak for the pathos of the tragedy, only for the comic, he wanted to accept him. He himself used to read tragic in an unpleasant gurgling sound far removed from the modesty of nature, and produced an effect quite contrary to the intended one.

In external relation to Schiller Tieck had already entered through the “Musenalmanach” of 1799, for which he had supplied some poems by Schlegel’s mediation. During his first visit to Jena in July, he had visited him in his garden house. Schiller knew Tieck’s close connection with the Schlegel, and might not have welcomed him without restraint. He was haggard and tall, his upper body stretched out, his face pale; the gray-blue eyes usually had a cold expression, but it faded as he became warm in the conversation. He did not speak without pathos. Shakspeare and Spanish literature were mentioned. “Do you also think that Lope de Vega has such a great resemblance to Shakspeare?” Was a question to which Schiller wished especially to have an answer, but which Tieck did not know so quickly. Even with repeated visits their discussions remained on the surface. There seemed to be something strange between them. Tieck felt cold against Schiller, her ways were too different.

They had one last encounter in Dresden in 1801. Again, they did not get any further. Tieck graduated from the Gemäldegalerie; Schiller had visited her as well. They came in conversation on painting. In his art reviews Schiller was determined by the influence of Goethe and Meyer. Of these he had accepted many things, such as the unconditional admiration of ancient art and sculpture, which stood aloof from his own nature. He therefore spoke out against painting. He found the impression of color unpleasant; he has no duration, it is impossible to detain him and determine. “You see z. For example, this cloth, “he said, pointing to a red wrapper of his wife lying near the window. “At this moment it appears red, let the light change, and the same red will then turn purple or gray, and with that the impression will have to change. On the other hand, how much safer and more determined is he not in plastic art. The highest wish would be the bas-relief, which combines the firmness of sculpture with the movement of painting. “Tieck made the counter-question whether these observations about the impression of color were also asserted against Correggio’s pictures. “Especially here I find it most confirmed!” Answered Schiller. On the other hand, Tieck explained, as in the distribution of light and shadow, in the unend change and play of color, in the means of drawing, which is not too exhausting magic of painting. Finally, they parted without having convinced themselves.

At the same time another hope had come true in the summer of 1799. Tieck was close to the old master of poetry; he had seen Goethe. Schlegel, who was regarded by Goethe as a metrical counselor, and Novalis had taken over him. Safer and more unbiased, as he himself had believed, he now at last approached that poet whose characters had accompanied him since the earliest days of his childhood, who had become a great spiritual power in his life. He had anticipated this moment as a boy, and wished for it with a longing as a youth, a part of his life seemed to be on it. Finally he was there! Goethe really stood before him. He was himself, Götz, Faust, Tasso! But even the ruler in the realm of poetry, in complete sovereignty, stood before him. A tremendous, shattering feeling filled him at the first sight. At the same time, from the bottom of his soul, like a cloud-shadow, the softly rising doubt rose, “Could you make him your friend, your confidant?” And he had to to answer: “No, you could not!”

This first encounter was followed by several visits, where they came a little closer. Tieck told of his studies of Shakspeare and his contemporaries. This led to Ben Jonson. He described his consistent opposition to Shakspeare, and ended with the question whether Goethe did not want to make an attempt with the strange writer. As Goethe readily agreed, He proposed the “Volpone” to him, and gave him the folio edition.
When he visited him again after some time, Goethe had just read through the recommended drama. The book was still in front of him. “Listen, dear friend,” he shouted to him with best humor, slapping his hand on the cover of the book, “that’s a very damned fellow! a true devil! “Tieck expressed his pleasure that his recommendation had proved itself. “Yes, that’s a heavyweight guy!” Continued Goethe, with the same wave of his hand, “what’s in his head for gadgets!” When asked if he did not want to read a few others in order to get to know him completely, he replied defensively: “No, dear friend, now it’s enough, nothing more. I know him now, and that’s enough! ”

In November Goethe came to Jena. Tieck had completed the “Genoveva,” and communicated it to friends, now came the opportunity to read the poem to him as well. Goethe lived in the castle. Since the first evening was not enough, the lecture could not be finished until the following. Attentive and sympathetic, Goethe had followed her. He spoke favorably and appreciatively. Then he turned to his nine-year-old son, who was present on the second evening. As he stroked his hand over his hair, he said: “Well, my son, what do you mean by all the colors, flowers, mirrors, and magics that our friend has read to us? Is not that wonderful? “Some objections that Goethe made were later taken into account.

He also got to know the “Zerbino”. He gave full acclaim to the serious characters and the lyrical parts, and invited Tieck to pull them together, and to make one to complete the whole, which should then be presented on the Weimar stage. Although it was Goethe, from which this suggestion emanated, Tieck could not but consent to it. Both parts, the satirical and the poetic, belonged directly together; they only gained their meaning in a jumbled way. A strike of one part would have been like destroying the whole.

Above all, Tieck wished to meet the master in the realm of the stage, in a field which he himself had so universally studied, and to which his inclination still belonged. Even then the thought might even come to him to ask Goethe for the permission to take the stage. If it had been only once, he wished at least to have made the attempt of a public game. However, he gave this idea no further consequence.

He had previously seen the Weimar society play in Lauchstädt and could not agree to its unconditional recognition. In his opinion, some actors did not deserve the reputation in which they stood. Graff’s pathos was little different from the vile tragic gurgling sound. Now he joined Goethe’s side in a performance of the “Maria Stuart,” which had just been put on stage. Again, he could not disagree. He did not find the artistic instinct he admired in Fleck here. Everything was attributed to a certain average mediocrity. An actor well known to him from Berlin gave the Leicester in such a clumsy way that he could not suppress the remark how he decidedly disturbed the whole thing. “I can not find it,” answered Goethe drily, “he does his duty to all others.”

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During the repeated visits to Weimar, Tieck also met Herder. He received him in a friendly manner, but not without measured dignity. After the first exchanges, the critic from the “Puss in Boots” stepped in, Böttiger, whom Tieck saw here for the first time, and whom he later met more often. Böttiger had a learned connection with Herder, and often visited him. Mindful of the role which Tieck had made him play, he had told Herder how to describe every absurd idea in Berlin with the words: “That is just as foolish as the ‘Puss in Boots’.” Herder asked the newcomer without irony young poet of the “Puss in Boots” before. Böttiger, who had the need to compliment himself and always had some on standby, was visibly embarrassed. With a strange twitching of his eyebrows, which was peculiar to him, he confined himself to repeating with a sour smile: “Oh! Egg! that’s pretty nice! ”

Less enjoyable was a later visit. Herder suffered for a long time in a deep mood. He was no longer in good agreement with Goethe. The sharp critical tone of the younger school had hurt him, and Kant’s philosophy, which had well-known admirers around him, provoked a violent contradiction. His “Metakritik” had already appeared, a book that even his followers did not want to approve of. In willful joke Tieck had drawn into the “Zerbino” the allegory of Hugo and Hägesa, which initiates the metakritik, and announced it by the epilogue as a German national comedy, which was to come soon to the performance. Herder was not the man to let such fun slip through, or accept him with humor. Tieck had heard enough of his sensitivity to know how he would now be against him. Reluctantly, therefore, he followed a request from Novalis to accompany him to Herder, who could not possibly take a light joke harder than he meant.

Nevertheless, Tieck was right. Herder was hurt, and did not fail to notice. He appeared cold and strange, almost transformed. His wife, who had an unpleasant sharpness, was even more repugnant. Only to the presence of his friend might Tieck have to thank for an invitation to drink the tea with them. An embarrassing embarrassing scene arose which took on an even more gruesome character through the gloomy chiaroscuro of the room for Tieck. No free open conversation wanted to get going, everyone felt depressed. It was a kind of liberation when finally a new guest, the art Meyer, entered. He had to pay for the entertainment. He knew many things to tell. The younger Stolberg had been prepared by his friends a very special Weihnachtsbescherung. He had built a crib with a doll in it and then worshiped it. Such and other mocking speeches Herder brought to an end by a decided word which impressed Tieck even in this embarrassing mood. “Let that be so, my friend,” he said, “you must let everyone have their own house religion!” Since, however, the harmony could not be restored, Tieck and Novalis soon said goodbye.

Later, Herder was no more conciliatory. When he did his studies for the “Cid” at the Dresden library in 1803, he again met Tieck, but he remained a stranger than before. A mischievous accident was that they had to meet again with the wife of Berg, who had invited the two poets to lunch alone, in the hope of some enjoyable hours. Here, too, Herder did not hint at the kindliness that, if he wished, was at his command. He was monosyllabic, closed and grumpy.

Closely connected with him was Jean Paul, who was also in Weimar. The writings of the humorous and strange poet Tieck had met years ago, when he was with Wackenroder some days in Braunschweig. By chance he found the “invisible box” at a bookstore.

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The tone deviating from all acquaintances determined him to take the book with him. He began to read Wackenroder out of it, but it was only cool enough. Even worse, it was Jean Paul’s first writings with the Berlin art judges, those humorous jumps did not want to please. For him too Tieck had to break many lances, and the enlightened opponents did not omit him to make the recognition of Jean Paul’s crime. However, this worship was not so unconditional that he should have overlooked the weaknesses and incomprehensibility of many poems. Much was explained to him now only from the personality of the poet. With a sense of humor and humor, whimsy and whimsical nature, reminiscent of childhood nature, often came to light in the most bizarre and peculiar expressions.

Strangely, a scene was repeated with Jean Paul, as Tieck had once had with Nicolai. Among the folktales, he introduced the “Blond Ekbert” to all others. He expressed his full admiration, and finally concluded with the question: “Admit it, where have you the History? “On Tieck’s assurance that he had invented her, he replied,” No, no! Say what you want! Such things are not invented! That must have been there before! ”

Tieck’s own lust for poetry increased under such varied suggestions, and he showed himself active on all sides. “Zerbino” and “Genoveva” had come to an end, the “Loyalty Eckart” and the “Tannhäuser” as “Melusine” joined in the tone of the folktales. These poems appeared to Frommann as “Romantic Poems,” a title chosen with the utmost impartiality, and soon to be given general significance as a literary party name. To denote a new or even higher kind of poetry was not his intention in the least. At most he wanted to imply that the reader should be introduced in rapid succession to the most opposite regions of feeling, of passion, of fantasy. In addition, he published a poetic journal whose task was to introduce into the older English and Spanish literature. For this, he translated Ben Jonson’s “epicons,” resumed criticism of the poet in the letters on Shakspeare, and made a number of smaller contributions.

Tieck stood in the midst of intelligent, aspiring and sympathetic friends, the creator of a brilliant world of poetry and imagination, rich in thoughts and feelings, in hopes and designs. Twenty-seven years old, he was already a recognized poet. He had entered the rank of the noblest spirits of the people, and recognized them as equals. The wildest dreams of his youth had become reality; Genius had already led the youth to the heights of life. He stood on that peak to which he used to go up longingly. had looked. It was the abundance of spiritual and sensuous power in which he lived, nor did everything work together to create an existence that is only granted to man in increased moments. With this feeling he looked back later on the beautiful time in Jena. But already these sunny days passed; into the spring a rough autumn wind blew in, and future long and hard sufferings came to light.

Tieck was used to relying on his health and the full strength of his body. Even in Jena he had practiced the old chivalric arts, and at times astonished the friends by skill and fearlessness. When he once made a horseback ride with Schlegel and Schelling near Jena, he led his horse over a beam, which was laid as a footbridge over a ditch that was dry but several feet deep. In the middle of the narrow path the animal spared, and he rushed down into the ditch with it. His companions believed him to have an accident, but laughing, he got up, brushed the dust off his clothes, and in the next moment sat back in the saddle.

Restless mental work and night-time vigils changed with strong physical effort. As a boy and youth he had spent hours and hours giving in to the storm and rain, and spent the nights in the open air; even then his health may have suffered. Recently, rheumatic pains began to torment him. One day he felt happier and freer than ever. He had not been so light, so open to humor and poetry. It was as if youthful vigor and health with this last refreshing puff would have forever bid farewell to him. The next day he seriously.

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The rheumatic pains showed as a trained gout in the knee. A lengthy cur started; he remained confined to his room, only with difficulty and pain he was able to walk. Weakness and bracing made it impossible to work for a long time.

When spring came, he gradually recovered. He brought him back with the warm air freedom of pain and desire to work. One expression of recurrent joy was the tragedy “Little Red Riding Hood” and the fairy tale “Melusine”. Newly enlivened by the first full sunshine, he wrote them, sitting in a flowery arbor, in the spring of 1800.

At last he left the friends; It was the end of July. He went to Hamburg, then to Berlin to see his wife’s relatives as his own.

In Hamburg he found occasion for a last great poem, which completed the series of mystical poetry. On the way to a place of entertainment on the Elbe, where a society was to gather, he found in a book on the street the popular book of the Emperor Octavianus. He did not know it yet, and expecting the friends, he read it at once in the face of the merry river, in the most beautiful summer air. It was a pure and full train that he did. Already during the reading the thought arose to him to work on this colorful material dramatically; clearly and distinctly, the individual figures approached him. With preference and deliberate thought he went to the factory. In 1801 he had finished the first part, towards the end of the year 1802 the whole thing. The models of Spanish poetry still worked. They showed themselves in the content, as in the free treatment of form which, in addition to the dramatic, also contained lyrical and epic richly. Again, the Christian world opposed the pagan. The victorious religious toleration and the passion, the faith and the force of nature, the wonder of the legend and the magic of the fairy tale faced each other. In the allegorical preludes appeared the powers that moved this world. The faith and the love, the jest and the bravery, and in their midst the romance.

Once again she filled the heart of her poet with drunken enthusiasm, and conjured up a sunken world with the mysterious and mighty cry:

Moonlit Magic Night,
That holds the sense,
Wonderful fairytale world,
Get up in the old splendor!