of the facts given above it seems improbable that the Perlesvaus was composed at any great interval from the rebuilding of St. Mary's as the Lady Chapel, in 1184, and the interment of the supposed Arthur and Guenevere there, in 1191, both of which events the romance reflects, as we have seen. Finally, the vaus d'Avaron of Robert de Borron and the grant valée in the Perlesvaus' description of Avalon obviously represent the same locality. The University of Chicago.

text. Incidentally, let me say that Suchier's statement (op. cit., 169) is incorrect; Hatton 82 is in many respects a more nearly complete мs of the Perlesvaus than the Brussels text.

THE MYSTICISM OF NOVALIS

BY WALTER D. TOY

I

AN INTERPRETATION OF DIE HYMNEN AN DIE NACHT

It was the opinion of Friedrich von Hardenberg, who wrote under the name of Novalis, that the writings of any man should be judged as an embodiment of the character of the man; that the established record of his life was a safer guide for the value of his writings than a mere critical examination of those writings themselves.

Important as was Novalis' contribution to the literature of German Romanticism, he preferred to think of himself as a man, not as a writer; and in his case, especially, it is helpful, in interpreting his most finished work, Die Hymnen an die Nacht, to keep clearly in mind the principles which guided his life.

Novalis was the great mystic of the Romantic School. His mysticism was not acquired as the result of abstract study of religion or theology, it was a necessary part of his being. In his case mysticism means a turning away from the interests of everyday life to those of the spiritual world. The world of the spirit was for him the real world, and yet he was trained as a lawyer and spent his life in effective service.

Without any element of dissimulation he led a double life; on the one side, as a thoroughly conscientious official, with acceptable social gifts and evident sympathy with worldly pleasures; on the other side he was a mystic dreamer, living in the world of the spirit.

This dual nature of Novalis is to be explained by the fact that he was essentially a man of intense spirituality. Left to follow his own inclinations he would doubtless have given himself wholly to poetry, that is, to the expression of his deep feeling. In so doing he would have been in sympathy with other Romanticists, for whom practical matters of every day life had no interest. But he was also by nature thorough-going and conscientious. Judging it necessary to adopt a recognized calling, he trained himself honestly for the law and later did valuable service as an official in the salt mines of Freiberg.

Under such conditions the impulses of his spiritual nature were for a long time held in check, until circumstances in his life brought them into full play. Such circumstances were offered by the death of his fiancée, Sophie von Kühn.

It may be that the devotion of Novalis to this young girl was from the beginning a dominant factor in his life; but this does not appear likely. What seems more certain is that during her sickness she became for him the object of his deepest affection. Her suffering and helplessness made the strongest appeal to him. He once said: "For Sophie I feel religion, not love. The office of religion is to suffer [to have sympathy] with the deity. If we are to love God, he must need our help."

So in her sickness Sophie became the dominating influence of his life. When she died, he felt that the whole world was a barren spot. He even resolved to die. Here was no thought of suicide, but merely of relinquishing by power of will his hold on earthly life, in order to enter upon the larger life of the spirit and so to live forever with his lost friend.

Attention has been called to the dual character of Novalis' life. While he was absolutely assured of Sophie's continued existence in the spiritual world and even began himself to live in that world, he continued to lead the life of a normal man. His diary, in which the days are numbered from the day of Sophie's death, contains nothing morbid. Its author was plainly holding his place in the every day world, while he reserved for himself a sacred allegiance to the other better world.

In his diary is recorded with perfect calmness how Novalis had a dream or vision at Sophie's grave. He embodied this experience in the Third of his Hymns to the Night. As he gazed upon the last resting place of his beloved, he seemed to be lifted from the earth. The world of Day vanished, he was united with Sophie forever and became a part of the spiritual world. It was after this experience that he resolved to give up the world of Day.

With this inspiration Novalis gave himself, in his meditations, wholly to the other world, the real world, unrestricted by earthly limitations. Sophie became the symbol, the representative of the world of Night. She is the Divine Maiden of the mystics; Böhme's lost Eve; identified with Christ or, at any rate, like Christ, the guide of all humanity in its search for its lost spirituality.

Now with this perfect life in view, the earthly life becomes a mere preparatory stage. Earthly experiences find their real meaning and value in their relation to the life reserved for mankind beyond the grave, in the realm of Night. Earthly love is thus a symbol of heavenly love.

After Sophie's death, and with a vivid realization of her glorified existence in the world of spirit, Novalis gave his affection to another woman, Julia von Charpentier, and would doubtless have married her, had his life been spared. This was, however, not the result of ordinary fickleness, was not an easy transfer of affection. Julia von Charpentier was an earthly symbol of the Divine Maiden. In loving her, Novalis was still loving Sophie von Kühn. Earthly love is an imperfect reflection of heavenly love.

This analysis of Novalis' mysticism has been made chiefly from the Hymns to the Night. Below are given some extracts from the

Hymns as illustrations.

The First Hymn begins with an enthusiastic appreciation of the light, that is, of Day, the symbol of earthly life. By his conduct Novalis had proved that he accepted fully the duties and interests of every day life.

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What living being endowed with intelligence, does not love above all the marvelous phenomena of space about him the light, the source of universal joy; light with its colors, its rays and waves, gentle yet present everywhere as dawning day!

دو

Man's usual conception of night.

"I turn aside to the sacred, unspeakable, mysterious night. The world lies far away, buried in a deep chasm; wild and lonesome is its place. Deep sadness assails the [human] breast. I will sink down in dew drops, mingle with the ashes. Distant memories, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life come clad in gray, like the evening mist after sunset. The Light has set up its gay pavillions in other regions. Is it possible that the Light will never come back to its children, who wait for it with the innocence of faith?

1The Hymns to the Night were published in Friedrich Schlegel's Athenaeum in 1800. They are six in number. Except a small part of the Fourth Hymn, somewhat more of the Fifth, and the whole of the Sixth, they are written in rhythmic prose. There had been a version in irregular verse, but it seems likely that Novalis, possibly because of failing health, preferred not to undertake the systematic versification with rhyme of a production already rhythmic and poetic even in the prose form.

A new meaning of Night. The beginning of Novalis' mystical conception.

"What is suddenly springing up, gushing forth under my heart, so full of presage? What is swallowing the soft air of sadness? Do you too, O dark Night, take pleasure in us? What have you under your cloak, which unseen appeals with power to my soul? Splendid balsam trickles from your hand, from the bundle of poppy. You lift up the soul's heavy wings. Startled with joy, I see a serious countenance, which suddenly and gently bends towards me, and shows me my mother's youthful face encircled with endless curls. How poor and childish the Light now seems to me! How pleasant and blessed the departure of Day!"

Address to the Light.

"So, only because the Night makes your servants faithless, did you sow in the distant reaches of space the shining balls, to proclaim your power, your return, at the time of your withdrawal. More heavenly than the flashing stars seem to us the infinite eyes which the Night has opened in us. They see further than the palest of yon countless hosts; without need of light they penetrate the depths of the loving soul—[a power] which fills a higher space with unspeakable joy."

Address to the Night and to Sophie.

"Hail to the queen of the world, the lofty revealer of holy worlds, the guardian of blessed love! She sends you [Sophie] to me, tenderly loved one, sweet sun of the Night. Now I am awake, for I am yours and mine; you have revealed the Night to me as life, you have made me a man. With spiritual fire destroy my body; that in joy I may be united more fervently with you, that the wedding night may last forever!"

SECOND HYMN

Longing to be delivered from the bondage of earthly life.

"Must the morning always return? Does the power of the earthly [life] never end? Unhallowed activity [on earth] devours the heavenly beginnings of Night. Will the sweet sacrifice of Love never burn eternally? [Yes], a definite time is set for the power of Light; but beyond time and space is the sovereignty of Night."

The true sleep.

"Eternal is the sleep of Night. Sacred Sleep! Do not too seldom delight Night's consecrated devotees in this work-a-day world!"

The false sleep.

"None but fools mistake you, [O true Sleep], and know of no other