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Xerox University Microfilms 300 North Zeeb Road Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106 I

75-26,603

JURASEK, Richard Thomas, 1946- A STUDY OF PAUL FLEMING'S POETIC RANGE.

The Ohio State University, Ph.D., 1975 Literature, general

Xerox University Microfilms,Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106 A STUDY OF PAUL FLEMING'S POETIC RANGE

DISSERTATION

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

By Richard Thomas Jurasek, B.A.a M.A.

**********

The Ohio State University

1975

Reading Committee; Approved By

Prof. Hugo Bekker Q Prof. Wolfgang Wittkowski Prof. Giesela Vitt ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

For whatever ways the following study is perceptive, I must acknowledge the inspiration, advice, and example provided by my teachers at The Ohio State University: Professor Oskar Seidlin, Professor Wolfgang Wittkowski, Professor Hugo Bekker, and Professor Gisela Vitt.

ii VITA.

December 7* 1946 . . . B o m - New Philadelphia, Ohio 1968 ...... B. A. (German) Ohio University, Athens, Ohio 1970-71 ...... Attended University of Heidelberg, Germany 1971 ...... Graduate Teaching Associate, German Department, The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio 1 9 7 1 ...... M. A. (German) The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio 1971-72 ...... Research Associate, German Department, The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio 1972-7 4 ...... Graduate Teaching Associate, German Department, The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio

iii TABLE OP CONTENTS

Page

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS...... 11

VITA ...... Ill

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

Chapter I. FLEMING AND PANSOPHISM ACCORDING TO PARACELSUS...... 7 II. FLEMING'S POETRY OF THE MI N D ...... 8l III. FLEMING AND THE LUTHERAN TRADITION...... 166

CONCLUSION...... 269

BIBLIOGRAPHY ...... 275

lv INTRODUCTION

The determining factors in much German Baroque poetry are the adaptation and exploitation of stylistic, philo­ sophical and religious traditions. Critics also commonly grant that innovation and personal expression were not major factors in literature until the age of Klopstock. Hence, the seventeenth century is known for the "practice" of poetry, whereas the eighteenth is characterized by the "creation" of works of literature. These are meaningful generalizations for the literary historian, but such attempts to establish a logical and clear succession of "schools" of literature are often made at the expense of an appreciation of the subtle and continuous process of blending poetic attitudes. It is perhaps more helpful in understanding certain seventeenth century writers if the Baroque is characterized as a period of transition: poetry based on nonpersonal principles gradually evolves into the more modem individual and inventive lyric expressions of the following century. This is not to suggest that in the German Baroque there were numerous innovators who strained at the fetters of impersonal convention and literary de­ corum; it is rather the case that poets such as Fleming are better understood if the reader is aware of the poet*s

1 2 capability of limited invention as he subtly alters avail­ able materials. It is the intent of this study to examine a number of Fleming*s religious and secular poems to determine the manner and the measure in which Fleming developed the possibilities open to him, and exploited the inherited principles of the Baroque literary heritage. After this preliminary description of the aim of the chapters ahead, a discussion of methodology is necessary. Since external influences very much determine the shape and substance of Baroque poetry, it is appropriate to employ an "extrinsic" method^ in critically evaluating works of literature in this period. Indeed, literary criticism has generally utilized this method with success, and has isolated and profiled a number of the literary and intellectual conventions which are antecedent to the poetry of the seventeenth century. In the case of Fleming's writings we can discern various external influences. Extra-personal principles such as Petrarchism, Lutheranism, Pansophism and Christian- Stoicism are primary impulses in Fleming's technique and subject matter. The following chapters will demonstrate that considerable research has been undertaken to dis­ entangle the numerous isms which were formative in Fleming's work. 3

The "extrinsic" method seeks to describe external connections, and it often provides vital historical infor­ mation without which a close reading of older literature is nearly impossible. It is an approach akin to Geistes- geschichte and Formgeschichte. for it establishes the historical context of the Geist and Form of a given work of literature. Yet even as the "extrinsic" method of analysis can yield a great deal of understanding, it can also distort or even mask other meanings in a poem. When the historical nexus is overemphasized, the elements of a poem can be reduced to mere signposts pointing to refer­ ences outside the work. The resources of language become superficially significant, for words have only denotative potential, and poems are read as a record of the ferment of the times rather than as aesthetic totalities. We are left with unoriginal works which consist of propositions about borrowed ideas — these statements are the poem*s "truth". Fleming scholarship offers an example of the occa­ sional inefficacy of the "extrinsic" method in Pfeiffer's2 discussion of Fleming's sonnet An Sich. Pfeiffer's analysis yields only the relevance of the poem as a docu­ mentation of Christian-Stoicism. Fleming's language, according to Pfeiffer, is referential to a specific idea, and this critic reduces the poem to "a series of propo­ sitions reinforced by regular meter and r h y m e . These are the unfortunate results when a critical method is concerned only with the delineation of the external causes of literature. In contrast, Schilrk's^- excellent discussion of the same sonnet describes the external influence of Christian- Stoicism, but also examines the interaction of meter, rhyme, structure and connotative meaning in the text. Schiirk*s analysis is an explication de texte. and there­ fore also employs an "intrinsic" method which discovers the subtleties, intricacies, and tensions which render the poem more meaningful than Pfeiffer*s analysis does. Schtirk thus utilizes a combined method that recognizes the factual, historical truth in An Sich. yet also describes its unique poetic "truth". The poem is described as a configuration consisting of word, idea and the poet*s soul, which when recognized is the reader*s ultimate concern. With Schtlrk*s methodological model in mind, chapters I and III of this study will describe two extra-aesthetic systems, Pansophism and Lutheranism, in whatever ways they are normative in Fleming*s lyrics. These chapters will not only examine these "borrowings", but will also expli­ cate numerous texts as self-sufficient aesthetic entities. With this dual approach that combines "extrinsic" and "intrinsic11 methods the poems will thus be classified according to their antecedents even as they are examined as to their individual relevance. Chapter II of this study will not be so concerned with historical factors, but will emphasize certain love poems as independent and coherent units, and discuss what­ ever Fleming substitutes for traditional molds of poetry. In these works private, intellectual, and subjective ele­ ments are also primary to the poetic process, and expli­ cation in the "intrinsic" method is appropriate. The task will be to examine thoroughly a portion of Fleming's work according to the above methodologies, and describe the interaction of Fleming's sensitivities with the prescribed patterns which had vast implications for the poets of this period. If in the second chapter the poems have a less conventional mark, then that which stamps them as individual creations in this normative age must be investigated. The goal, then, is to enlarge the understanding of Fleming's potential range in an imitative and stylized literary environment. NOTES

See Rene Wellek and Austin Warren, Theory of Literature (New York, 19^9)» parts III and IV, and Rene Wellek, Concepts of Criticism (New Haven, 1 9 6 3 )» PP» 1“21, for discussions of the "extrinsic" and "intrinsic approaches to literature.

^ Johannes Pfeiffer, "Paul Fleming: 'An Sich'" in Die deutsche Lyrik: Form und Geschichte. ed. Benno von Wiese, Vol. I (Btisseldorf , 1959)*

3 This phrasing is borrowed from David Daiches, A Study of Literature (New York, 1964), p. 14-3.

^ Ingrid Schttrk, "*Sey dennoch unverzagt': Zwei barocke Sonette von der Bewaltigung des Schicksals in Aus der Welt des Barock. ed. Richard Alewyn (Stuttgart, 1957). CHAPTER I

FLEMING AND PANSOPHISM ACCORDING TO PARACELSUS

In his book Paul Flemings Liebeslyrlk Hans Pyritz^- traces the styles and attitudes of the Petrarchan tradi­ tion on their journey from Renaissance Italy to their manifestations in seventeenth century German poetry. Pyritz finds that this poetic tradition, as it is assimi­ lated and developed by Opitz and his successors, is framed in philosophical and literary poses that often allow little deviation from rigid molds. Indeed, Pyritz1 study is subtitled Zur Geschichte des Petrarkismus and in it he concludes that individual poets such as Fleming often support this tradition so completely that it is proper to speak of a system of love that is heir to the codes and manners of the medieval Minnes.ystem in its refinements, intricacies, and universality. Pyritz describes the nature and the range of this poetic complex: Der Petrarkismus ist zunSchst, dera Wortsinn nach, nichts weiter als eine Nachahmung des petrar- kischen Liebesstils; indessen w&chst er sich bald, nach dem er angetreten, zu einem geschi- chtlichen Gebilde von besonderer Artung aus. Er wird System — das zweite erotische System von internationaler Geltung nach dem Minne- sang. In diesem System ist nicht der ganze Petrarca rezipiert; soweit aber diese Rezep- tion geschah, erscheint die Ausdruckswelt, die sich Petrarca ftlr sein persflnliches Erleben

7 8

schuf, befreit von allem Bekenntni shaft en, geltist aus alien organischen Zusammenh&ngen, aus allem Fliessenden und Verfllessenden unver- bindlicher Stimmungsschilderung zur Starre und Ktlhle einer festen Schematik verh&rtet, in alien ihren Elementen vergrtibert und verzerrt. Was fortf&Ut, ist der ganze Oberbau: die weltanschauliche und psychologische Problema- tik des Liebesideals mit ihren Konflikten und die Liebesethik. Was bleibt und zum System verholzt, das sind die Grundzllge der eroti- schen Situation und das Material der sprachlichen Gestaltung.2 Pyritz1 study of Fleming*s lyrics in light of this tradi­ tion leads him to delineate the poet as a member of the Petrarchan legions. In a review of Pyritz* study Richard Alewyn^ supports Pyritz' conclusion that to understand Fleming one must examine the literary and aesthetic antecedents to his poems. Alewyn supports this approach because only a study of a Baroque poet*s background can lead to proper explications: . . . die Mittelpunkte, urn die sich barocke Literatur organisiert, liegen nicht in den Schriftstellerindividuen, sie zerf&llt nicht, wie wir es gewohnt sind, in indi- viduale "Oeuvres”, die sich als stilistisch- weltanschaullche Einheiten von anderen individualen "Oeuvres” unterschieden, sondem sie konstituiert sich in flberperstinlichen Gebil- den: Gattungen und gattungsEhnlichen Forma- tionen, denen sich das Dichterindividuum so, wie sie iiberliefert sind, unterwerfen, die es innerhalb eines gewissen Spielraums abwandeln, die es aber in ihren Grundzttgen nicht willkilrlich ver&ndem kann. Nur auf diese Gebilde passen die Begriffe "Stil" und "Weltanschauung”, nur auf sie, nicht auf persfinliches Erlebnis und pers8nliche ttberzeugung ihres zuf&lligen Urhebers, sind literarischej,Aussagen in diesem Zeitalter zu beziehen.

Alewyn stresses^ that this is not a value Judgement, since imitation and objective elaboration describe most of the poetic alternatives of secular Baroque lyrics. In the final chapters of his study Pyritz concludes that the mature Fleming abandons the Petrarchan tradition. Alewyn concurs with this and finds that in his later work Fleming begins to exercise a mo d e m sense of poetic inventio. However, Alewyn insists^ that Pyritz* conclu­ sions require further investigation. Alewyn recognizes that Fleming*s love poetry is not solely influenced by Petrarchism, but is also affected by other contemporary motif-complexes such as Stoicism, the conventions of the Gesellschaftslied. as well as the theme of microcosmic and macrocosmic relations, a feature of the Neoplatonic heri­ tage. Thus, whereas Pyritz isolates and describes the Petrarchan prototype and the depth to which it penetrates Fleming *s work, Alewyn suggests that these other systems also be examined to determine their effect on Fleming’s poetry, and how far, if at all, they are modified. Since Alewyn *s review two studies^ have traced yet another poetic convention and its evolution in Fleming’s work. Manfred Beller and Volker Klotz have demonstrated that Fleming frequently reworked models to accommodate 10 varying poetic needs. For example, Klotz, in his analysis of Fleming's ode An Anna, die sprflde. confronts the prob­ lematic relationship of convention and artistic individ­ uality, and demonstrates that personal expression can penetrate and alter the inherited prototypes of mythology. Like Pyritz* investigations these two studies describe a poetic convention and the margin of alteration that is discovered in Fleming*s utilization of it. As Alewyn indicates, however, there are other extra-personal conven­ tions besides mythology which are crucial to Fleming's writings, and which must be examined to determine their influence on Fleming as a mature poet. I propose to examine one of these complexes, namely the ties and asso­ ciations between nature, the cosmos, and the love experi­ ence. I contend that this nexus is at the core of exten­ sive speculation on love by Fleming, and that these elements constitute a personal system which is just as important to the understanding of Fleming's work as the Minnesystem described above by ?yritz. Scholars long ago realized that there is a connection between certain speculative ideas in Fleming's work and o the terms and concepts of popular Renaissance metaphysics.0 Both Hankamer and Vietor recognize the major source of these influences on Fleming in the figure of Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, better known as Paracelsus (1493-15^1)• Pyritz is also aware of this influence,9 but although he investigates the connection more thorough­ ly than either Hankamer or Vietor, he devotes more criti­ cal effort to an examination of the sources of these Renaissance theories of macrocosmic and microcosmic rela­ tionships than to their formulations in Paracelsus* or Fleming's work. Pyritz outlines the tradition of such speculations which turn upon the idea of cosmic sympathies and harmonies filling the universe.10 He traces their development from Plato to sixteenth century theorists such as Giordano Bruno. Pyritz also observes that in the Renaissance another component interacted with these theo­ ries, namely the Lucretian belief that love is the vital element in establishing and sustaining these universal sympathies and harmonies. Accordingly, a Florentine school of speculation was founded to consider the cosmic importance of love, says Pyritz, and this system then intermingled with the Petrarchan Minnesvstem as described above. Since Fleming subscribes to Petrarchism, Pyritz concludes that Fleming was participating in yet another tradition, this time derived from platonic idealism. Pyritz then traces Fleming's Journey on these well- traveled poetic paths. He surveys those images and phrasings which reflect this tradition, and discovers that in Fleming's work empirical reality is sometimes raised 12 and illuminated by virtue of its platonic background. However, Pyritz also finds that in most of Fleming's meta­ physical applications there is only a faint shimmer of the original platonic significance. Pyritz concludes that Fleming most often exploits this tradition solely for poetic effect, and that the poet thus contributes to the destruction of lofty ideas until they have only shallow and temporary metaphoric value. The nature of Fleming's absorption of these metaphysical influences is summarized by Pyritz in the following passages: Was jdurch kosmischej Relationen erfasst und ges­ talt et wird, greift ilber den Bezirk empirischer Liebeswirklichkeit hinaus zu ihren metaphysl- schen Urspriingen, deren dauernde Bewussthaltung dem Dichter eine absolute Notwendigkeit ist, nicht so sehr um ihrer selbst willen, als vielmehr wegen ihrer guten Brauchbarkeit fttr seine pers5nlichen Absichten; aus ihnen gewinnt [Fleming]zugleich objektive Rechtfertigungen und gesteigerten Effekt fiir Werbung und Preis, Jubel und Klage.11 Vom hohen Ernst der philosophischen Haltung bleibt in praxis naturlich meist nicht veil; das Empfinden filr die Bedeutsamkeit der Vorstellungen schwindet rasch; und ttbrig ist Formel und Klischee, die wieder blank und glatt von [Dichter zu Dichter] wandem. Es ist elne griindliche S&kularisierung philosophischen Gedankengutes, die sich hier vollzieht.12 It is in the above conclusions that I fault Pyritz* examinations of this extra-personal system. His critical method is an historical consideration of Fleming which investigates individual ideas and tropes, and their origins, but ignores their context in the poems. I agree 13 with Pyritz that Fleming's work is not preoccupied with outright platonic idealism, but I contend that Fleming nevertheless develops and retains a strong associative pattern gleaned from these traditional speculations. These influences and the resultant patterns can then indi­ cate certain directions which this poet's imagination fre­ quently takes whenever the poetic themes include love, nature, and the cosmos. In the following analysis, then, I intend to combine critical interpretations with the techniques of historical scholarship. I shall refer extensively to what seems to be the single source of most of Fleming's metaphysical borrowings, namely Paracelsus. Although commentators have recognized extensive Paracelsian influence in Fleming, none of them has provided a compre­ hensive survey of these origins. By relating directly to Paracelsus' texts, I shall demonstrate how in Fleming*s work an extensive and unified base of speculative ideas is often translated directly into poetic formulas. How­ ever, this investigation will not merely attempt to name sources; to do so duplicates Pyritz* work. Instead I shall also fully explicate the poems in which these borrow­ ings are found in order to demonstrate the growth of recur­ ring patterns in the poet's writings. These new directions are metaphysical in nature, and dispute Pyritz' argument that Fleming was merely exploiting a few intellectual cliches as raw material for shallow poetic constructions. Indeed, this chapter*s description of the development of a metaphysical Weltanschauung will portray a subtle blend of convention and individuality. Although Pyritz* find­ ings may prove that Fleming abandoned one system, Petrar- chism, in his later work, I shall be able to demonstrate in this and the following chapter that a second system, metaphysical in nature, does not diminish in influence, but remains essential in Fleming's most mature odes and sonnets. In promoting more progressive medical practice Paracelsus' theories came to blend the knowledge of alche­ my, astrology, philosophy, and even magic. Paracelsus* mind knew no barriers, and ranged into many worlds to make his speculation significant as cosmology, psychology, physiology, and ethics. Such synthetic interests account perhaps for the general success of his works when they were first published in Frankfurt in 1603.^ Fortunately it needn't be mere conjecture as to whether Fleming had knowledge of Paracelsus, for the following excerpts from early poems indicate that Fleming was familiar with the teachings of this "metaphysical physician" and his synthe­ tic sensibilities. The likelihood of such familiarity is increased when one is reminded that Fleming received medical training himself at the universities in Leipzig 15

and Leiden. In this first selection from congratulatory poems for friends who have just completed their medical degrees, Fleming addresses all physicians in the Paracel-

sian medical tradition. . . . Ihr, Kinder der Natur, geht einen weisern Weg! Salz, Schwefel und Merkur sind euer fester Grund, die, wie sie alle Sachen zu diesem, was sie sein, und eignen Dingen machen, 25 und so ihr Ursprung sind, so auch ihr Ende sein. Aus was vor etwas kam, da geht es wieder nein. Die, wie sie dreie sind die Brunnen alles Bd»sen, so mttssen sie auch uns hinwieder zu erldsen drei sdsse Strdme sein. Ein kluger Arzt, der nimpt 30 da seine Hdlfe her, worvon der Schade kdmpt, ldst Salzsucht auf durch salz, ltischt Feuer aus mit Flammen, das mancher nicht begreift. Ihr zieht die Kunst zusammen, macht wenig aus so viel, lehrt grdndlich, wahr und frei, wie dass die grosse Welt ganz in der kleinen sei, 35 und was sie beide sein. Bald weist ihr auf die Stemen, wie man von dannen soli der Krankheit Ausschlag lernen. Bald zieht ihr auf das Feld und tragt die Kr&uter ein, die fdr so manchen Gift der Schmerzen dienlich sein. Ihr lasst die Bliiten ab, grabt zu gewissen Zeiten 40 die starken Wurzeln aus, wisst ktinstlich zu bereiten aus diesem das und das, erzwingt aus allerlei den Geist und Seele selbst, darmit es st&rker sei. 16

Bald lasset Ihr euch ah In die verborgnen Schltinde, die Pluto selbst kaum weiss, durchsucht die finstern Grtinde, 45 haut die Metallen aus, legt eure Kunst daran durch Handgriff' und die Glut. Da wird erst kund getan, was die Natur vermag. Die Steine milssen schwitzen, das Erz entf&rbet sich und schmelzt ftir euren Hitzen, das harte Gold wird Plut, der flttchtige Merkur 50 h£lt Fuss und ftthret euch auf eine sch8ne Spur, , die gfildner ist als Gold. . . . Immediately following this passage Fleming begins an ex­ tensive survey of the most significant figures in the medical tradition. At the end of this survey he names Paracelsus (The "du" refers to Fleming's friend Grahmann): . . . Du weisst den rechten Brauch von Beider Medizin, verstehst die dunkeln Sachen, die manchen in der Schrift der Weisen irre machen und lange halten auf. Der hohe Theophrast, 70 der mehr als billig ist von vielen wird gehasst, der ist dir ganz bekant. . . . (p. 145) It is the ideas in the preceding passages more than the reference to "de M hohe [n] Theophrast" (1. 6 9 ), which documents Fleming's familiarity with Paracelsus. Lines

2 1 -2 9 , for example, elaborate the theory that the human body is composed of three substances, as is similarly postulated in the following excerpt from a Paracelsian tract: 17

Jetzt hast du den Menschen, dass sein Leib nichts ist als allein ein "Sulphur", ein "Mercurius", ein "Sal": In dennen dreien Dlngen steht sein Gesundheit, 6gin Krankheit, und alles was ihm anliegt. ^ All life contains these three substances. To properly prescribe, a physician must understand this material basis, because illness results if these same "life" substances become unbalanced. We cite Paracelsus again: Denn so die drei einig sind und nicht, zertrennt, so steht die Gesundheit wohl: Wo aber sie sich zertrennen, das ist zerteilen und siindern, das ein fault, das ander brennt, das dritt zeucht ein andern weg: Das sind die AnfSng der Krankheiten. Denn dieweil das einig "Corpus" bleibt, die weil ist kein Krankheit da: Wo aber nicht, sondem es spaltet sich: Jetzt gehet an das, so der Arzt wissen soil. ° To combat illness, then, the wise practicioner prescribes in order to restore the original balance. This Idea produces in Fleming*s poem the paradoxical tone of lines

29-32: Ein kluger Arzt, der nimpt da seine Htilfe her, worvon der Schade ktimpt, ltist Salzsucht auf durch Salz, lfischt Feuer aus mit Flammen, das mancher nicht begreift. (1 1 . 29-3 2 ) In lines 32-35 Fleming proceeds to the key Paracelsian idea of the relationship of the "great" and the "little" worlds. In the ability to learn from the macrocosm lies the real art of medicine. Again we look to the Paracelsian original: 18

Denn der Mensch wird erlemt von der grossen Welt und nit aus dem Menschen. Das ist die "Concordantz", die den Arzt ganz macht: So der die Welt erkennt, und aus ihr den Menschen auch, welche gleich ein Ding sind und nit zwei.1' It is in this recognition of the concordance between the grossen Welt and the kleinen Welt that a physician also learns the art of preparing and administering medicinal i ft herbs. According to Hans Kayser-1,0 this is part of

Paracelsus’ astrologische Pflanzenkunde in which one's familiarity with astrology expands one's knowledge of mysterious herbal properties. Fleming reflects knowledge of this Paracelsian correspondence in lines 35”42, which are introduced by the following juxtaposition: . . . Bald weist ihr auf die Stemen, wie man von dannen soli der Krankheit Ausschlag lernen. Bald zieht ihr auf das Feld und tragt die Kr&uter ein, die filr so manchen Gift der Schmerzen dienlich sein. (11. 35“38) In lines 43-52 of the excerpt quoted two pages earlier, Fleming marvels at the alchemist's mastery of the proper­ ties of mutable elements. The practices which he describes are commonplaces in alchemy, but when mentioned in a Paracelsian context they become part of the physician's attempt to utilize all knowledge and arts in wresting secrets from nature. It is not alchemic process for the vain purpose of creating gold, but the attempt to under­ stand in order to heal. Such a goal leads the alchemist 19

11. . . auf elne schflne Spur,/ die giildener ist als Gold” (11. 51“ 52, italics added). The significance of alchemy is described by Paracelsus in the following passages Denn die Natur ist so subtil und so scharf in ihren Dingen, dass sie ohn grosse Kunst nicht will gebraucht werden: Denn sie gibt nichts an Tag, das auf sein Statt vollendet sei, sondem der Mensch muss es vollenden: Diese Vollendung heisset Alchimia. Denn der Alchimist ist der B&cker in dem, so er Brot backt: Der Rebmann in dem, so er den Wein macht: Der Weber in dem, dass er Tuch macht. Also was aus der Natur wachst dem Menschen zu nutz, derselbige der es dahin bringt, dahin es verordnet wird von der Natur, der ist Alchimist. 9

Nature contains much that can serve man's interests, but only an initiate can unlock and decipher her secrets. In the second poem celebrating a friend's completion of the medical degree, Fleming again demonstrates his familiarity with Paracelsus: . . . Was Socrates geschrieben, 70 was Plato hiebevor in Schulen hat getrieben, das war euch wol bekant. Der ktinstliche Porphyr war ganz in euch wol belebt, wie der auch von Stagyr. Des Donnerkeils Geburt, der Ursprung der Cometen, des Himmels runder Lauf, der Fortschreit der Planeten, 75 der Elementen Kraft, das war euch ganz bewust. Was Andren Arbeit ist, das ist euch eine Lust. Wie ihr denn auch den Lohn des Fleisses iiberkamet, als ihr den blauen Hut von Klio H&nden nahmet. 20

Bisher hat man gesehn, wie ihr so wol geilbt 80 in Phttbus Kfinsten seid, wie euch sich untergiebt der Bttcher Wissenschaft. Der Krfl-uter stille Kr£fte sein euch ganz offenbar. Das muss euch geben S&fte, was keinen Saft nicht hat, durch eure Kunst und Glut. Die giinstige Natur vertraut euch all' ihr Gut 85 und was sie heimlich hfilt. Die Lebens- Gttnnerinne hat euch der Welt geschenkt. . .(p. 119) This passage repeats many of the Paracelsian principles described earlier. It stresses that the solutions to mysteries and problems are revealed to the inquisitive mind through terrestial nature. This view reflects Paracelsus1 thoughts about 11 die gSnstige Natur” (1. 84), "die Lebens-Gtinnerinne" (1. 8 5 ): So dann alles das, so der Mensch tut, und tun soil, das soli er tun aus dem Licht der Natur. Denn das Licht der Natur ist allein die Vemunft, und nichts anders.20 These citations demonstrate how Paracelsus' mind moved freely through various worlds and blended cosmology, physiology, and alchemy. Fleming's detailed exposition of some of these basic doctrines substantiates the claim that he knew this system well. Yet the cited theories deal basically with medical practice, and it remains to estab­ lish Fleming's connection to that Paracelsian vein which produced in the poet a metaphysical Weltanschauung. 21

In the following I shall present a list of Isolated extracts from various Paracelsian tracts. This listing will then find parallels in the poems to be evaluated later in this chapter. Although many of these Paracelsian thoughts will not appear as sharply as they did in Fleming *s congratulatory poems mentioned above, the likelihood of a direct influence will become apparent. This catalogue will thus not only help explicate the poems, but will also describe the base from which Fleming developed his own view of love and nature. I. Also sei euch das ein "Introductorium" unsers Anfangs, das in gleicher Gestalt, wie ihr das Firmament in Himmeln erkennt: Ein gleichformige Constellation, Firma­ ment, und dergleichen, ist im Menschen. . . . Also sollt ihr uns verstehen, wie wir "Microcosmum" auslegen. Wie der Himmel ist an ihm selbst mit alien seinem Firm­ ament, Constellationen, nichts ausgeschlossen: Also Ist der Mensch con- stelliert in ihm, ftlr sich selbst gewaltiglich. . . . Also merket zweierlei GeschiJpf: Himmel und Erden fUr eins: den Mensch flir das ander.2! Solchs sollet ihr alles verstehen im Menschen, und wissen, dass im Menschen das Firmament ist, mit gewaltigem Lauf leiblicher Planeten, Sternen, die geben “Exaltationes", "Conjunctiones", "Oppo- sitiones", und dergleiche, wie ihrs nennet nach eurem Verstand: Und alles so die astronomische Lehr tief und schwer ergrfindet hat, . . . daselbig sollt ihr euch lassen ein Unterrichtung und Lehr sein, auf das leiblich Firmament.22 22

Die Erde 1st nlchts ohn des Himmels Impression: Durch den Himmel grfinet sie und gibt Frucht, und lebt aus dem Himmel, das 1st, der Himmel 1st ihr Leben, Krankheit und Gesundheit. Nun sind der Erden zwo: Die, aus der das Exempel geben wird: und der Mensch von deswegen es geben wird: Der Mensch ist aber die unsichtig Erden, und doch als die Natur der Erden. . . . Darumb so lebt die Erde aus dem Himmel* und der Himmel zeucht sie nach ihm. 3 The idea of microcosm and macrocosm belongs to a system of analogy by which Renaissance Neoplatonic thinkers oh were able to make ultimate reality knowable. Paracelsus* version of this philosophical heritage constitutes an organic world view which merges abstract ideas about the nature of ideal reality into the phenomenal world around us. The material world thus gains in dimensions, and man becomes the intersection of all the forces which are pro­ grammed into the greater macrocosm. Since man is described as an exact model of the complex forces that fill the uni­ verse, to understand the march of the heavens is to know the fundament of our existence as well. It Is a unifying world view which recognizes that man participates in a terrestial order, but he can also learn to participate in astral as well as divine forms of life. The relationship between the two worlds, then, lies in the function of the greater world as "Unterrichtung und Lehr" (see above), for if we recognize the example in external nature we gain in understanding and orientation in our existence. This 23 speculative model is thus characterized by its ideas of analogy, concordance, and instructive influence. II. Nun folgt auf das, dass der Mensch das nit allein ist, noch die Welt allein, sondem es ist noch eine Welt, und ist die kleinste und ist die Matrix. . . . Also der Mann ist die kleine Welt: Die Frau hat im selbigen ein Gebresten, sie ist die kleineste Welt, und ist ein anders dann der Mann. . . .25 Die Mutter ist ein Ding, die nichts anders ist als ein beschlossen Welt, die sonst nicht Gemeinschaft hat mit den andem, und ist doch dieselbige. Denn die Welt ist und war die erste Creatur: Der Mensch war die ander: Die Frau die dritt. . . . Das aber alles, ist also zu verstehen, dass sie alle drei ein Creatur sind, gleich in der ^ Astronomia und Philosophia und Theorica.20 Also ist der Mensch der f,Microcosmus,,: Denn Vater und Mutter seind aus der Welt gemacht, und die Welt hilft fiir und fttr die Menschen geb&ren. Und also ist do ein Leib. aber zwo Natur: Ein Geist, aber zween Sinn.2 ' Der Mann ist der Sam: Er ist der Sam des Mannes und der Frauen, denn der Samen ist sein und in ihm, aber die Fttrbringung entscheidens ist die Frau. . . . Darumb, so ist der Mensch, zweifach in der Welt: Ein ander Leib ist der Mann, und ein ander Amt: Ein ander Leib ist der Frauen Leib, und ein ander Amt: Also ein ander Welt. . . .2o In collating these frequently paradoxical references to woman and femaleness, we find that her characteristics distinguish her from man, and yet she participates with him in the formation of the complete microcosm. In Paracelsian terminology she is a separate reflection of the universe, yet she is also of the same spirit and substance 24 as man. When considered as a pair, man and woman create an amorous microcosm with the paradoxical identity of two- in-one . III. Und wie ein Bauer ohn den Acker nichts soil, und den Acker nichts ohn den Bauem, sondem beide seins nur ein Ding: Also ist auch der Mensch, nit ein Mann allein, nicht ein Frau allein, sondem sie beide, ist ein Ding, aus dem nun der Mensch weiter geboren wird.29 Woman is the "matrix", the field in which the seed is planted. Just as selection no. II stresses the uniqueness as well as the sameness of the male and female qualities, this analogy to the farmer and his field stresses their mutual need. Man and woman remain opposites, yet just as the macrocosm often gives evidence of the coincidence of opposites, so too are these two qualities necessarily attracted and bound to each other. Most important is that the microcosm is only complete when it encompasses both man and woman in union. IV. Der "Spiritus Vitae" ist ein Geist, der da liegt in alien Gliedera des Leibs wie sie dann genannt werden: Und ist in alien gleich der eine Geist, die eine Kraft, in einem wie in dem andem: Und ist das hfichst Korn des Lebens, aus dem alle Glieder leben.30

Derhalben sollt ihr auch wissen, dass der "Spiritus" eigentlich das Leben und der Balsam ist, aller corporalischen Dingen.31 All created elements are inhabited by a vital princi­ ple, the spiritus vitae, a spirit especially important as the animating force of nonliving and living things. It is 25 an astral emanation which originates in the Creator, and which orders the heavens and sustains natural life. Har­ monious process in the microcosm and macrocosm depends on this ethereal force, which is also likened to an all- penetrating balsam. Paracelsus is a vitalist who perceives orderly growth and movement in all things, and it is this spiritus vitae which is the prime mover. In reading this survey of Paracelsus the student of seventeenth century German literature is perhaps reminded of numerous other poems in which images and ideas also turn upon the relation of the great and small worlds. Indeed, the phrase kleine Welt is ubiquitous in Baroque poetry, yet it must be noted that in most instances such usages are facile with only temporary metaphorical significance. In contrast Paracelsus develops the same ideas into a cohesive system with metaphysical emphases. Paracelsus is not mere­ ly a barterer of trivial intellectual commodities, but a serious theorist who imbues such common phraseology as die kleine Welt with primary conceptual significance. These speculations form hypotheses about the universe and man*s place in it, and it is the argument of this chapter that Fleming*s borrowings from Paracelsus are not simply the exploitation of common poetic formulas, but the assimi­ lation of an entire pattern of viewing the world and con­ ceiving and solving philosophical problems. 2 6

In the following poems the discussions of love and nature inipell Fleming to metaphysical considerations in Paracelsian terms. The preceding survey will now serve as the background for an image-by-image evaluation of these poems. However incomplete, this listing describes some of the major metaphysical impulses from which Fleming*s imag­ ination begins to produce its own Weltanschauung.

Friielings-Hochzeitsgedichte Der Winter ist ftirbei, der Feind der bunten Auen und aller Blumen Tod; was Juno kan beschauen auf diesem breiten Rund*, ist alles Jammers frei, der von der K<e war. Der Winter ist fttrbei. 5 Der angenehme Lenz ist itzt schon angekommen, hat jenem alle Macht und Leidsein abgenommen und gar von uns verweist. Der liebe Freund der Lust hat von der Erden Not und Obel wol gewust, drumb bricht er so herein. Die beste Zeit der Zeiten, 10 des Jahres Mark und Saft, die Gunst der Fruchtbarkeiten, das Wohnhaus aller Pracht, das nichts als Lustigsein, hat sich nun widerumb bei uns gestellet ein und machet alles froh. Seht, wie so grline werden die Glieder ttberall der breitgebrtisten Erden, 15 Feld, Wiesen, Berge, Tal! Ietzt regt sich die Natur, sie bildet ihre Zier, wo man hin siehet nur. 27

Wie prangt sie mit der Saat, wenn mit gesunden Reifen die fromme Cynthia bei Nacht sie muss t&ufen, darvon das Gras und Korn frtih* aller trunken sind 20 und taumeln hin und her, wenn sie ein Westenwind mit sanftem Odem schwenkt! Wenn es beginnt zu tagen, und furchtsam tritt herfilr der Rtttin hunter Wagen und zeigt ihr braunes Liecht der aufgeweckten Welt, da geht die Wollust an, die mir und dir gef&llt. 25 Das leichte Federvieh verl&sst die warmen Nester, begibt sich ihrer Burg, der halbbegrtinten Aster, spaziert durch freie Luft, singt Schaf' und Sch&fer an: denn auch diss gute Volk nicht lange schlafen kan, geht fiir der Sonnen aus. Die Taue sinken nieder, 30 beperlen Laub und Gras. Der Philli laute Lieder, die in dem Pusche grast, die wecken Echo auf, dass manchen hellen Schrei sie durch das Tal tut drauf. Die lautere Fontein, entsprungen aus der Erden, mit der Kristallen nicht verglichen mflgen werden, 35 ergeusst das helle Quell und rauschet durch den Grund, darinnen mancher Hirsch benetzt den diirren Mund und schlttrft ihn nAchtem nein. Der W&lder Raub, die Hinden, gehn ungescheucht, zur Kost. Der Has* ist noch zu finden in Jenem Stflcke Korn*, in das er gestem lief, 40 und asse sich so voll, dass er auch da entschlief. Indessen steigen auf des muntem Phdbus Pferde, 28

die nichts als Feuer sein: da wird das Punct der Erde von Neuem ganz belebt. Diss ist die liebe Zeit; was gtitt - und menschlich ist, das wird durch sie erfreut. (pp. 58-59) This passage is the introductory portrayal of nature in Fleming's Frilelings-Hochzeitsgedichte. It is not char­ acterized by extensive natural description or a sense of abstract truth contained within such description. Instead of straight-forward depiction we initially recognize only the Baroque poet's penchant for Umschreibung. This device of alternating poetic substitutions operates in the various characterizations of Spring: der angenehme Lenz (1. 5) der liebe Freund der Lust V die beste Zeit der Zeiten (1.9) des Jahres Mark und Saft (1. 10) die Gunst der Fruchtbarkeiten (1. 10) das Wohnhaus aller Pracht (i. ii) die liebe Zeit (1. 43) Such alternating word-constellations harmonize to create the general impression of the vitality and fertility in this landscape after Winter's grip has been relaxed. After the introductory depiction of the seasonal progression through Umschreibung Fleming proceeds to de­ scribe* in a limited manner, the phenomena that fill this Spring day. The poet remains unspecific about the setting for this pageant, and we only learn that the events in this passage are generally representational for the revitaliza­ 29 tion of all nature. Also, the descriptions that follow do not register In the poet*s eyes, but spring full-grown from his mind. Fleming accordingly fills this imagined landscape with literal images which seldom connote the texture or "feel1' of physical objects or beings. The "meaning" of this particular landscape does not lie in a pansophist*s attitude toward a divinely created nature. Instead, it lies only in the ritual-like quality in the unfolding of the Spring day. This ritualistic narration of the day*s activities begins with the description of a pre-dawn landscape caressed by Diana and refreshed by the West Wind, both conventional tropes. First to stir are the birds, awakened by the dawn, and their song is echoed by the landscape. Because this description originates in the poet*s mental image of an ideal Spring morning, the landscape appropri­ ately contains a clear-running fountain, a standard emblem­ atic d e v i c e . 32 This fountain has no physical features, and its channel remains undescribed, yet its presence is essen­ tial to the idea of a perfect natural setting. The Baroque reader, familiar with numerous emblems, is fully aware of its important function of being refreshing and sustaining. The final lines in the passage add to the harmonious completeness of this Spring morning: hares and deer, normally the prey of other animals, can now feed peace- 30 fully. The sun rises higher — 11. . . Dlss ist die liebe

Zeit;/ was g8tt - und menschlich ist, das wird durch sie erfreut." (11. 43-44) This entire passage describes the beauty and calm rhythms which entail nature*s "Zier" (1. 16), and "Wollust" (1. 24). The poet rhapsodizes about this "Zier", yet he produces only the most general impressions. "Wollust" introduces the gentle movements of awakening nature, yet such motion receives only minimal elaboration even in conventional terms. This is not to say that these are poetic shortcomings, since Fleming is not striving to register and order real sense impressions. Instead, he strives to make this day unique in its very representation of those aspects of external nature which delight us. Indeed, the effect on us of this annual self-embellishment of nature, the Spring season, is described in the verbs "gefallen" (1. 24) and "erfreuen" (1. 44). This universal human joy in abundant external ornamentation thus further heightens the festive atmosphere of the wedding to be commemorated. Even if this descriptive writing makes spare use of words of color, sound, texture, and motion, this composition on the Spring day effectively communicates the idea of the pleasing and perfect, regenerated, phenomenal world. The following passage further reveals Fleming's initial attitude toward nature in this poems 31

Frau Flora braucht nach ihrer Lust die warmen Sonnenstrahlen, 70 darmit sie wunderlich die Tulpen kan vermahlen. der Garten fruhe Zier. Sie streicht so artlich an den schflnen Rittersporn, als wol kein Mahler kan. Auf liebe Nfigelein, auf gfinstige Narcissen, auf sch<3nen Hiacynth ist sie schon ietzt beflissen. 75 Der Veilgen silsse Gunst, der Anemonen Pracht macht, dass die kluge Frau oft1 in sich selbsten lacht und denkt: ist das nicht Lust? Des Himmels Angesichte ist blau und wolkenfrei, die Luft ist hell* und lichte. Kein Nebel zeucht sich auf, kein Regen und kein Wind SO bei dieser Stetigkeit itzt zu befahren sind. 0 wunderschSne Zeit! . . . (p. 60) Just as the ideal Spring morning lacks detail, so too does this description of flowers and the heavens lack any dis­ tinct characterizations. There are few concrete associa­ tions or substitutions through Umschreibung. Instead, profuse flowers are merely ”sch$n", "lieb", "silss", or "g$nstign, and the weather is nothing short of perfect. Although following portions of the poem will further de­ scribe this Spring day, line 81 terminates a specific attitude toward nature. Up to this point nature is por­ trayed with painterly effects and visual exuberance, but lacks clarity and is essentially hollow. Yet the external "Zier11 of revitalized nature unquestionably pleases men and gods (1. 1|4). With only a few conventional brush 32

strokes Fleming*s descriptive narrative thus creates a nature-feeling that is fully satisfied in not penetrating to an understanding of these natural processes. Instead, the details of this composition are arranged to express only a childlike joy in the open air delights of this representational May morning. Fleming rests in this enjoyment, and his art evokes this "Zier" to grace the wedding poem and please the readers and listeners. As mentioned above, the role of nature is to please and give joy — "gefallen" (1. 24) and "erfreuen11 (1. 44). Further nature description in this poem contrasts the initial superficial attitude described above. Natural settings and motion will not be pictured for their own sake, but will be subordinated to the expression and inter­ pretation of significant meanings within that nature. In this new point of view toward nature the regularity, har­ mony, and universality which Fleming recognizes in the workings of external nature becomes normative for human nature as well. In recognizing such parallels between the external world and man, Fleming draws on macrocosmic and microcosmic theories as outlined above in Paracelsian terms. However, before Fleming proceeds to use nature as a basis for reflection and edification, he provides a mythological interlude. This passage is in itself speculative, for in it Fleming establishes an interaction between the activi­ 33 ties of Springtime and those of Cupid. The theories which arise in this segment bind Springtime and love together, and lead directly into the speculative substance of extensive Paracelsian passages to be discussed later. These lines introduct the element of love into the con­ siderations of the poem: 0 wundersch$ne Zeit! Ja freilich ist sie schdne; Cupido welss es wol, zeucht schon an seine Frdne, schreibt ihm zu eigen zu die ganze Frdhlingszeit, l&uft, wie er pfleget stets, in seinen alten Streit, 85 in den Streit, da er ihm kan untertSnig machem, vjas ihm will widrig sein, in den Streit, da er Lachen anstatt des Schiessens braucht. Der Kugeln darf er nicht. Man hat ihm Pfeile zwar und Bogen angedicht’t, jedoch nur angedicht't. Er selbst ist ein Gedichte 90 und blinde Fantasei. Die gl&ubliche Geschichte von diesem Wundergott’ ist der Poeten Spiel, die minstes gl&uben selbst, von dem sie melden viel. Doch sei ihm, wie ihm sei! Er mag ein Gott verbleiben, ich will das gute Kind nicht aus dem Himmel treiben. 95 Lieb* ist ein grosses Ding. Diss wil mir nur nicht ein, dass er ein kleiner Knab* und blind darzu soil sein: ist er ein schwaches Kind, wie, dass er denn kan zwingen den st&rksten Ritter, Mars, ihn zu der Mutter bringen und zusehn, wie Vulcan ein gross Paar Horner kriegt, 100 der doch sein Vater war? Diss heisst Ja obgesiegt. 34

Und ist der Khabe blind? Er muss mir j'a vor zielen, im Fall1 er wolle denn nur mit den Pfeilen spielen und einen Fehlschuss tun. Er spannet in der Welt und scheust, dass Jupiter auch selbst vom Himmel f&llt. 105 Es sei! Ich kan ihn doch nicht gross und sehend machen. Ein Gott muss er wol sein, weil auch in denen Sachen, die unbeseelet sind, er ttbet seine Kraft. (pp. 6o-6l) Because this god is most active and effective just when nature itself is being revitalized, Fleming estab­ lishes Cupid as an essential character in the pageant of Spring, and as a pageant figure he too must be described and interpreted. However, Fleming alters the traditional image of this mythological figure, in that Cupid*s succes­ ses are not wrought with arrows, but with laughter. The sometime violence that is associated with a frequently mischievous and even cruel Cupid is thus removed, and he now can function as gently as Spring itself. Fleming begins a demythologizing process which culminates in the idea that this figure is no more than a product of the poetic imagination. Yet, in conventional usage, a myth can often serve as a preformed concretization of a partic­ ular point of view. Perhaps because myth is a receptacle of truth Fleming halts the demythologizing, reestablishes the temporarily disputed divinity of Cupid, and proceeds to examine this convention in order to fathom fully the 35 figure and the idea it represents. Love is a powerful principle, says Fleming*s persona, but the myth which frames this truth is in itself contradictory, because this all-powerful deity is diminutive and blindfolded. In spite of this, Cupid subdues the mightiest warriors and gods, and although he is blind, his aim is unerring. Fleming*s discussion of Cupid*s problematic function re­ mains concerned with the incongruity between the meaning and the vehicle of the myth. The speaker seems dissatis­ fied by the values which are imputed to love, namely the easy vanquishing of traditionally brutish figures such as Mars and Jupiter. Love may easily subdue War and Strength, but Fleming*s persona seems to want to penetrate to a more meaningful understanding of the principle of love. The poet acknowledges the divine quality of this value, but his probe of myth has provided mostly contradiction and little definition. Pyritz also discusses the Cupid excur­ sus and concludes: "die Frage bleibt offen".33 j disagree, and maintain that Fleming persists until the abstraction, love, is expressed in concrete and particular terms. Indeed, in line 105, with a resolute "Es sei!", he termi­ nates his discussion of the world of myth, and the key to the entire puzzle leaps into view. The proof of the divine nature of love, as well as an understandable and concrete representation of its function is found not in myth, but in 36 the phenomenal world Itself: Ein Gott muss Cupido wol sein, weil auch in denen Sachen, die unbeseelet sind, er {lbet seine Kraft. Die Steine lieben sich und halten SchwSgerschaft, der Forst besaamet sich, ein Zweig buhlt mit dem andern. 110 Ist Liebe nur ein Feuer? Wie, dass in Flttssen wandern die Fische Parr und Parr und treiben, was der Mut und Lust zu mehren sich im Wasser raten tut? Ist Liebe denn ein Frost? Wie kdmpt es, dass das Lieben auch mitten in dem Schnee von Allem wird getrieben, 115 was sich nur lieben kan? Ich finde mich nicht drein, es muss ein selzem Ding umb Lieb1 und Lieben sein. Ist es der Geist der Welt, von dem man viel will sagen, und kennt doch niemand ihn? Man nennt es stisse Plagen, die Sinnenmeisterin, die wollustvolle Not, 120 der Freiheit Untergang, den angenehmen Tod, und was der Namen mehr die ewigen Poeten sehr weislich dichten an den sauersiissen N#ten, Was Lieb1 ist, weiss ich nicht, und schreibe doch darvon. Was hilfts? Unwissenheit ist meiner Einfalt Lohn. 125 Diss ist der schflne Zweck, darauf wir alle denken, dahin wir Tag und Nacht die leichten Sinnen lenken, wenn wir erwachsen sind. Es muss geliebet sein, soil dieses Alles nicht in Kflrzen gehen ein. Der hohe Himmel liebt die tiefe Schoss der Erden, 130 mit ihr und mit der See muss Luft vermShlet werden, die beide schwflngert itzt. Diss macht der Liebe Band, 37

dass allzeit Tag und Nacht so bleiben im Bestand und wechseln friedlich umb. Die Zeiten tauschen abe mit htichster Einigkeit. Die Sonne steigt herabe, 135 macht, dass sich Alles liebt. Der Widder und der Stier, darinnen sie ietzt lRuft, die sind verbuhlte Tier*, als wol ein Ieder weiss. Die Zwillinge, die wollen, dass wir umb diese Zeit uns auch umbfangen sollen und gehen Paar und Paar. Der silberblasse Mond 140 heisst uns dem folgen nach, was sie noch nicht gewohnt, well sie stets Jungfer bleibt. Der lieben Sterne Blinken, das lehrt uns, wie auch wir der Liebsten sollen winken. In Summa, was in sich Luft, See und Erde hElt, das heisst uns lieben itzt und mitte sein gesellt. 145 Seht, wie der Eppich kan die grtinen Arme schlingen ringsumb den Riistbaum her und ihn zu Liebe zwingen! Seht, was die Wicke tut, das buhlerische Kraut, wie sie ihr brttnstiglich dem Stengel anvertraut und hEngt sich fest an ihn! Die stummen Wasserschaaren, 150 die reissen durch den Strand und tun sich freundlich paaren, wie denn das Luftvolk auch, da manche Frau und Man sich schnEbeln zttchtiglich umb siisse Hochzeit an. (pp. 61-62) Pyritz indicates that Fleming*s description of love as "der Geist der Welt" (1. 117) belongs to the speculative tradition that was outlined in the introduction to this chapter.3^ Pyritz contends that this philosophic concept 38 of love as a motivating principle is employed by genera­ tions of poets until such constructs are secularized and rendered trivial. Among the various secularized poetic applications of love as a cosmic force is that situation in which man or woman are admonished to love by the example of external nature. Through such imitation man partakes of the all-sustaining principle as the poet erects a platonic ladder to make nobler, universal, more intensified levels of love accessible. However, as Pyritz suggests such cosmic expansion in most Baroque love poetry, including Fleming's, is more the reduction of philosophic ideas to a poet's cliches than a poetic mind's ranging into truly metaphysical speculation.35 Regarding this establishment of a sympathetic relationship between cosmic and human love in Fleming's poetry, Pyritz concludes: VerstSndlicherweise ist die Hochzeitsdichtung der gegebene Tummelplatz solcher Sympathie- Motive. Parallelen hier anzuflihren erspare ich mir; sie sind bei jedem Petrarkisten mit H&nden zu greifen. Was Fleming zu bieten hat, bleibt ganz im Rahmen dieser Tradition. Die liebende Frllhlingsnatur freut sich mit liber eine Verm&hlung und tut, was sie kann, den Brautleuten zur Lust.3° Pyritz thus asserts that Fleming mined common poetic ore. Instead of adopting central philosophical ideas in a methodical and disciplined manner, says Pyritz, Fleming imitated his contemporaries whose poetic eclecticism reduced ideas to malleable metaphoric commonplaces. It is 39 the argument of this chapter, however, that Fleming's speculation is not eclectic, but founded on a single base of ideas, those of Paracelsus. In order to explain Fleming's poetic and intellectual vision it is not neces­ sary to survey numerous philosophers and poets who might have had an influence. Instead, one can explicate lines 106-153 of Frtielings-Hochzeitsgedichte, and numerous other poems, solely on the basis of similarities in Paracelsus. Indeed, in the pages ahead the thesis that a direct con­ nection existed between poet and philosopher will become more tenable, for a great number of Fleming's concepts and patterns have a parallel in Paracelsus' thought as outlined earlier. It can in fact be argued that Paracelsus is the means by which Fleming integrates and organizes all the elements of this poem. As stated before Fleming does not speciously borrow from this source, but assimilates a pattern of ideas which form a unified Weltanschauung, cohesive in all its parts. After having rejected the myth of Cupid as an illus­ tration of love, Fleming then seeks, in lines 106-152, a description of love as something which can be palpably known. However, although personified nature is visibly stirred by love, Die Steine lieben sich und halten Schw&gerschaft, der Forst besaamet sich, ein Zweig buhlt mit dem andern (11. 108-09), 4 0 portraying this spiritus mundi in human terms is more difficult. Fleming*s first attempt to make love tangible is the double question whether love is similar to frost or fire (11. 110-114). The experience of love as one of these physiological extremes is a standard account in the bank of Petrarchan conventions. In the context of this poem, however, they fail because such extreme Petrarchan images are too fluid and contradictory to provide any more meaningful knowledge about love than myth did. In lines 115-127, Fleming*s persona persists in its search for sen­ sible and concrete terms to describe the effect of love on man. In lines 118-122, the speaker seeks to depict love in further traditionally Petrarchan poetic formulas, "siisse Plagen11, "wollustvolle Not", "der Freiheit Untergang", "die Sinnenmeisterin", and "angenehmen Tod", but such images are often self-contradictory, and only confound the illustration of "der Geist der Welt" (1. 117)- Hence, the reality of love remains obscure to our "leichten Sinnen" (1. 126). At this point the speaker becomes dubious about the ability of the changing patterns of the poet*s world to adequately define this idea. However, even though sufficient portrayal in terms of human nature eludes the speaker, the remainder of this passage demon­ strates that the idea can be readily perceived in its actual functional existence in external nature: 41

Es muss gellebet sein, soli dieses Alles nicht in Kiirzen gehen ein. (11. 127-28) Paracelsus* cosmological theories hypothesize the coincidence of opposites and the fusion of these anti­ pathies into new universal sympathies (see Paracelsus selection no. I, cited above). His organic world view also perceives an invisible life-force, the spiritus vitae (see Paracelsus no. IV, cited above). This is an astral emanation which maintains the order of the heavens. It Is also an all-penetrating balsam which refreshes and sustains all natural life. It is in such functions as the reconcil­ iation of universal opposites, and the maintenance of that harmonious unity that Fleming, a Paracelsian vitalist, comes to describe "denGeist der Welt": Der hohe Himmel liebt die tiefe Schoss der Erden, mit ihr und mit der See muss Luft verm&hlet werden, die beide schwfingert itzt. Diss macht der Liebe Band, dass allzeit Tag und Nacht so bleiben im Bestand und wechseln frledlich umb. (11. 129“33) Since man, the microcosm, is an exact model of the forces and flux within the macrocosm, to understand the march of the heavens is to understand what does, or should, motivate us (see Paracelsus selection no. I, cited above). In the following lines, Fleming transposes into verse these Paracelsian ideas about analogy and concordance, and the influence of the grosse Welt on man: 42

. . . Der Widder und der Stier, darinnen sie ietzt l&uft, die sind verbuhlte Tier1, als wol ein Ieder weiss. Die Zwillinge, die wollen, dass wir umb diese Zeit uns auch umbfangen sollen und gehen Paar und Paar. . . .(11. 135*39) The images created here allude to the apparent paths of the planets according to the signs of the zodiac. The "Widder", Aries, and the "Stier", Taurus, respectively represent the months of March and April. In May the zodiacal sign is Gemini, the Twins, and the earlier sym­ bols, Taurus and Aries, appear to fuse in this doubled constellation. In Spring these two heavenly bodies appear as one, and this astrological union urges us to imitate it in terms of human union. The moon and the stars echo this admonishment (11. 139*42), for it is in such pairing that eternal order is maintained. Such analogical habits of mind are, of course, Paracelsian (see selections nos. I, II, cited above). Not only in the course of the heavens, but also in newly revived nature can one perceive this universal essence — love. In lines 145-52, Fleming's speaker twice admonishes the reader “Sehtl", for in beholding the activi­ ties of the Spring landscape one also recognizes the cosmic unifying and sustaining principle. In these lines Fleming ranges through all the realms of earthly existence, land,

sea, and air, and describes how personified plant life, 43 fish, and birds are all programmed by the same principle as the astral order. In observing nature and becoming cognizant of concordances between terrestial and astral worlds, one penetrates the secrets of all existence in Paracelsian terms. This belief that nature reveals truths reflects Paracelsus* thoughts as quoted earlier in this chapter:* So dann alles das, so der Mensch tut, und tun soil, das soli er tun aus dem Licht der Natur. Denn das Licht der Natur ist allein die Vernunft, und nichts anders.37

With these ideas, the survey of the cosmic and natural order is essentially completed in line 152; it has estab­ lished that the sympathetic parallelism which fills all realms rests upon the unifying potential of love. This study described the introductory image of nature in this poem, lines 1-45, as being basically static. In lines 106-52, however, Fleming reveals the forces which sustain that landscape, and this motion comes to influence the union of man and woman as well. In the latter segment nature is not described in terms of its pictorial "Zier" (11. 16, 71), nor is it functional in terms of "gefalien" (1. 24), and "erfreuen" (1. 44). Instead of Spring being the period of "re-embellishment", it becomes the season of revitalization, and the passage resonates with organic Paracelsian ideas of analogy and harmony. Instead of pleasing us, it instructs and influences us, because If we 44 grasp the workings of the cosmic and natural dynamo, we too can participate in the divine harmony through the spiritus vitae: Auch wir sind GBttern gleich durch unsrer Liebe Gaben Da meint ein Ieder schon ein Himmelreich zu haben, der fest und stete liebt, wenn die ihm, die er liebt, ein treues Unterpfand der Gegenliebe giebt. (11. 165-68)

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Three other occasional poems by Fleming further delineate this dual attitude toward nature; it is used merely to grace or commemorate an event, or it is depicted for a more serious philosophical purpose. In the following lines from a nuptial poem Fleming exploits nature in its ability to please through its "Zier11: Und was ist es fast von Ntiten, dass sich miihen die Poeten, Brautigam, um dein Hochzeitfest, da das junge Jahr in Allen 5 dir und Deiner zu Gefallen einen Brauttanz htiren l&sst? Der gesunde Mai kommt gangen in den ganz verbliimten Wangen und verjiingt euch seinen Schein. 10 Phbbus sendet seine Stralen, l&sst den Platz mit Farben malen da der erste Reihn sol sein. 45

Zephyr fleugt mit offnem Munde und haucht aus dem Blumenschlunde 15 mancher Blumen liebe Zier. Aklei, Tulpen und Narzlssen sieht man aus dem Boden spriessen, den ihr tratet, ftir und fur. 25 Auf den Feldern, in den Auen habt ihr eure Lust zu schauen; Alles schicket sich in euch. Die verbulten Heerden scherzen, wenn sie euch sehn sehnlich herzen, 30 und umfangen sich zugleich. Dass die Elster heller rauschet, dass urn Bulerinnen tauschet manches liebes Wasservolk, dass die Piischer sanfter brausen, 35 dass die Liifte linder sausen und uns trilbet keine Wolk1 : Alles diss und anders Alles, was uns wol tut gleiches Falles, wen wol trifft und geht es an? i»-0 Seid nicht ihr’s, ihr Liebsten beide, denen die und andre Freude bios zur Lust wird getan? (p. 295) This is Gesellschaftsdichtung which treats natural surround ings only as a means of ornamentation and a source of delight. In the following passage, by way of contrast, the vitality of nature serves as a gentle instructor. In the first segment Fleming addresses his friend Adam Olearius; they are both wearied by study and introspection: Sind wir itzt nicht in dem Maien, in der besten Jahreszeit, da man Alles sich sieht freuen, was such reget weit und breit, 5 da die stolze Welt sich putzt und in jungem Schmucke stutzt? 46

Du nur wilst dich nicht bequemen zu der siissen Liebligkeit und die Freude mitte nehmen, 10 so sich giebet dieser Zeit? Du nur tust nicht, kleine Welt, was der grossen so gef&llt? Gib den miiden Biichern Feier! Tu die matte Feder hinl (p. 336) Here, nature becons and offers joy and understanding to those who join her in communion. Indeed, in the remainder of this lengthy poem Fleming and Olearius regain inner harmony as they wander through the "Rosen Tal" (1. 86 of this poem), near Leipzig, and become one, in friendship and with nature. The following lines from a poem commemorating another friend's birthday reveal Fleming as speculative in a Para- celsian vein. The speaker abandons sophistic abstractions, and turns to the immediate satisfaction given by tangible Spring: Plato, du bist ein Betrlegerl Ich weiss, was ich wissen soil. Ich will in das Griine gehen, wo die dicksten Blumen stehen, wo des Jahrs Appell, der Mai Alles malet mancherlei. (p. 347* 51~56) In the latter two of the above three passages the speaker discovers the ideal in his actual participation in the real. Although the three preceding quotes are from poems written in May, 1632, we distinguish two distinct attitudes toward Spring and nature. This is similar to the major work 47

Friielings -Hochzeitsgedichte. in which one view treats natural surroundings as a delicate setting* whereas the second attitude intimates the ideal and the universal in the natural world.

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Returning to the major discussion* we must he reminded that the spiritus vitae does not flow from an active exter­ nal nature into torpid man. Rather* this life-fluid is inherent in all things (see Paracelsus selection no. IV* cited above)* and man need only allow it to course freely through his own system. Instead of this balsam being transferred to us* we find that we already contain it: Vergebens ist uns nicht die Leber einverleibet: sie. sie ist unser Gott* der uns zum Lieben treibet. 215 Wer gar nicht lieben kan, der wisse* dass anstat der Leber er faul Holz und einen Bofist hat. Und ihr habt recht getan* ihr wolgepaarten Beide, dass ihr das siisse Joch der angenehmen Freude wolt zeitlich gehen ein! Die g8nstige Natur* 220 des Htichsten treue Magd, weist euch auf diese Spur* und leitet euch hierzu. . . . Gillespie contends that in this passage Fleming was merely being roguish and jovial to credit the liver as the seat of amorous passion* and to decide that it too is divine. 48

In Paracelsian and general seventeenth century usage39 the liver is the vital organ which imparts, with the blood, all manner of mysterious spiritual and material sustenance to the body. This is no mere humorous image produced by young Fleming, the witty medical student. It is rather based on serious Paracelsian medical theory, and it infers that by refusing to love, one blocks the natural passage of this Lebensgeist through the body, which thus condemns one to visceral decline. The concluding three lines of the preceding passage echo the idea that nature should stimulate us, but not beyond its role as an appropriate model. The organic order within us should duplicate the macrocosmic order, but there is no actual transfer between the two.**-0 The functional relationship is clearly described: . . . Die giJnstige Natur, . , . weist euch auf diese Spur, und leitet euch hierzu. . . . (11. 219-21) This idea of the guiding role of nature is phrased in an only slightly different manner elsewhere in this poem: . . . Wer wollte denn nicht lieben? Wo wir nur sehen hin, da werden wir getrieben an dieses siisse Werk. . . . (11. 209-11) After line 225, the speaker becomes less active in a speculative sense. Instead, the bride and groom are fre­ quently addressed as we near the eight congratulatory 49 poems which comprise the actual Hochzeitsgedichte in the title to this lengthy epithalamium. The harmony between the lovers and Spring has been established, and this union can now enhance the wishes of the congratulatory songs. In the following lines, which precede and introduce the eight nuptial songs, salutory Spring itself can now glorify the marriage celebration: Ihr habt der besten Zeit der Zeiten wahrgenommen, der Lenz heisst euren Lenz der Jugend ietzt willkoramen. Diss alles, was ietzt liebt, das wundscht euch Heil zu dem, was euch und ihme nun von Herzen angenehm. Das Wind - und Wasservolk, die ausgeschlagnen Wilder, der schone Maienschein, die neubegriinten Felder sind frfthlicher als vor. . . . (11. 257“63) If one of the principal purposes of the entire work is to honor the bride and groom, then the painstakingly developed portrait of surrounding cosmic and natural sympathies cer­ tainly befits the poem's wishes. The narrative content of this epithalmium describes the passage of the entire wedding day. The introductory landscape was illuminated by the rising sun, and now, the processes of the poem reach their culmination just as, 50

. . . Frau Luna ktimpt geschlichen und steckt ihr Silber auf, der schbne Nachtstern ktimpt, die angelegte Glut der blanken Sterne glimmt. Htirt auf, ihr gar ein Sinn, htirt auf mit euren Ttinzen, ermiidet euch nicht garJ Die Lust ktint ihr ergtinzen auf einen andem Tag. Ietzt seht, was Hymen dort in jener Kammer zeigtl (11. 298-304) In the course of the poem we witness how man and woman come to share in the same spirit, and now under the auspices of Hymen, they become the same substance. When considered as a pair, man and woman create the paradoxical sense of two-in-one, and together they form the complete microcosm (see Paracelsus selections no. II, III, cited above). The lovers, through their union in marriage, "das stisse Joch" (1. 128), not only parallel the order of the firmament, but become a universe unto themselves. The following segment, spoken by the groom, addresses the "Wechselburg", the physical setting of the actual wedding ceremony, and in it we become aware of the self-sufficiency of this microcosm, a smaller universe complete with its own celestial bodies. An den Lustgarten zur Wechselburg Bisher hat dich bestrahlt die allgemeine Sonne, noch hastu Blumen bracht nach Herzens Lust und Wonne: was wirstu ftirderhin ftir Blumen bringen mir, wenn mein herzeigne Sonn1 auch sein wird eigen dir? (11. 357“60) 51

With love and nature so bound together it is appro­ priate as the poem closes with a series of wedding vows, spoken alternately by bride and groom, that we are again reminded of the organic and fundamental significance of love, the Lebensgeist. I include portions of two of these four vows which echo the relationship between love and nature established by the processes of the poem. Wechselgedichte Der Br&utigamb. So viel dein langer Strom, du Fichtel- bergerinne, Inwohner Fische hat, so viel mich friih1 und spat ergotze meine Braut, die schbne MenschgttttinneI Die Braut. So viel der dicke Wald, das griine Haus der Tiere, der Zweig1 ietzt bringen mag, so viel mich Nacht und Tag mein allerliebstes Lieb in seinem Herzen ftihre! (11. 373-8 0 ) Because of the abundant positive connotations shared by love and the natural order in this poem, through such pledges, which incorporate Spring, the lovers themselves gain a continual Spring. In such associations the identi­ ties of the lovers are phenomenalized even as they gain in abstract and ideal dimensions. Discussing Friielings-Hochzeitsgedichte in some detail revealed many of Fleming’s characteristic views on love and nature, and the relationship of these two. However, before 52 proceeding to any conclusions about the metaphysical currents which are induced by Paracelsus, and which flow through many of Fleming’s non-Petrarchan poems, it is necessary to examine additional poetic formulations of these ideas. This study has already described the span of many of these speculative themes as discovered in Frtiellngs- Hochzeitsgedichte. but only in the evaluation of more material can this chapter purport to describe a metaphysical Weltanschauung in Fleming. Additional explications will initially portray a generally imitative attitude toward this system of love. Later poems will then describe an in­ creasingly inventive application of these borrowed specula­ tive ideas as they gradually become part of Fleming’s personal, poetic and intellectual orientation. In the preceding epithalamium we witnessed the reveal­ ing of divine reflections shared by nature, lovers, and the cosmos. The poem’s speaker, in his persistent search for an explanation and justification of love, progresses through several stages of awareness until he finally clari­ fies Spring as the symbolic season of universal love. Such gradual development which rests upon meticulous observation and interpretation of the macrocosm, however, is less evident in these stanzas extracted from another marriage- hymn written in 1632: 53

Recht so, Hebe, traute Beidel Ihr bequemt euch nach der Zeit und geht an die sdsse Freude, welcher itzt sich Alles freut. 5 Alles freiet in dem Maien: solte denn der Mensch nicht freien? Der verliebte Himmel l&chelt in die gleicherw&rmte Luft, welche gleichsam Kilsse fSchelt 10 auf der schwangern Erden-Kluft, die bald Beiden, so sie liebet, tausent’ sehflner Kinder giebet. Die demantenen Gew&sser fliegen durch den Jungen Moss, 15 und die Wellen flechten besser einen in den andern Stoss, dass es an den Ufern klinget, als wenn Mund mit Munde ringet. Diese Tropfen, die wir schauen, 20 wenn der Tag noch ist ein Kind, auf den aufgedeckten Auen, gl&ubt es, dass es Kilsse sind, die die bulerischen Sternen lassen sinken her von fernen! 25 Und wer zweifelt an dem Bulen, das ihr Federvolker treibt in den grilnen W&lderschulen? Niemand lebt nicht, der nicht glfiubt, dass die sdssen Melodeien 30 nichts als Buler-Lieder seien. Sei gegrilsst, du Fiirst der Zeiten, du des Jahrs Apell. o Mai! Wer wird mich wol uberstreiten, dass itzt nicht gut freien sei, 35 da doch Alles, was sonst liebet, uns befugten Anlass giebet? 45 Alles hastu dir verbunden, und diss liebe Paar allhier giebet dir den Preis der Ehren, dass du wol kanst freien lehren. (pp. 296-9 7 ) Animals as well as inanimate objects are personified and activated by the same spiritus vitae which motivates the wedding partners. Nature gains intelligence and emotions not merely to echo and intensify the lovers’ activities, but also to demonstrate again how effective an influen- 54 tial external nature can be as a communicator of basic truths: . . . diss liebe Paar allhier giebet dir Mai den Preis der Ehren, dass du wol kanst freien lehren. (11. 46-48) This hymn seems to simply assume the existence of such truths in nature; an attitude which contrasts the process of the preceding poem in which the idea of love is scrutinized as if it were a puzzle. In the following lines, just as in the poem last quoted, the fundamental and organizing image is the marriage of heaven and earth. Nature is again personified in this controlling image, and its fertility and harmony are extended to the loving couple: Nemlich itzund war zu freien, 20 da man Alles sich verneuen und wie Hochzeit machen sieht, da nun in erwlrmter Erden alle Sachen rege werden, wie bei Bulern auch geschieht. 25 Die verlebte Welt wird jflnger und streicht mit verliebtem Finger ihre Runzeln von der Haut. Seht, seht, wie sie aus den Feldern, aus den Auen, aus den W&ldern 30 mit verbulten Augen schautJ Sie schaut nach dem lieben Freler, der uns bringt ein neues Heuer, der sich ihr schon anvertraut und in ihre Glieder dringet. 35 Unser Br&utigam wird verjiinget in der Schoss der schdnen Braut. Gleiches Paar, doch nicht an JahrenI Ihr lasst uns an euch erfahren, dass auch Ungleich gleiche sei. 40 Doch wer fraget nach den Jahren? Was sich soil, das muss sich paaren. Lieb’ ist hier, wie allzeit, frei. 55

Wenn sich ein Paar Liebe kiissen, und mit halbgemachten Bis sen 4-5 Mund mit Munde lieblich ringt, dass die k&ssenden Koralien etwas lassen widerschallen, das den Stemen gleich klingt: da verlaufen sich die Seelen 50 in die unerforschten Hblen und verwirren sich in sich. In den zimmetsiissen Kehlen, da geschiehet das Verm&hlen, das uns wundert ewiglich. 55 Zwei vermengte Liifte machen einen Geist, der grosse Sachen, doch in kleinem Halle sagt, Sachen, die nur ihr besinnet und doch keinem sagen kftnnet, 60 der euch um dieselben fragt. (pp. 289-9 0 ) Throughout, nature encourages and endorses the union of lovers. The final four stanzas extol the example of this couple which is attuned to external harmonies. Their relationship, says the speaker, is the conjunction of opposites: Ihr lasst uns an euch erfahren, dass auch Ungleich gleiche sei (11. 38-39)» but in their union they become the fusion of these opposites: Zwei vermengte Liifte machen einen Geist, der grosse Sachen, doch in kleinem Halle sagt (11. 55“57)« These lines thus reduce the activities of nature and lovers to one main feature, namely the unifying potential of love, and man and woman become two-in-one, a microcosmic reflec­ tion of heaven and earth united in Spring. The following wedding-poem is based on a single idea ~ the concordance of microcosm and macrocosm. 56

Freie, was vor nicht gefrelt, was vor hat gefreiet, freieI Itzund sagt die neue Zeit, dass man sich nun auch vemeue. 5 Billich, dass die kleine Welt sich nach Art der grossen hftlt. Zwar es kan sich wol so gut ein Mai wie das ander1 lieben: wenn es aber Alles tut, 10 soil es denn der Mensch verschieben, der zu der vergiinten Tat gleiches Recht und Anspruch hat? Freie, was sich nehmen kani 20 Junge Leute sollen lieben; alte geht es gleichfalls an, die es ja so sehnlich tiben. Wer es hindert und verbeut, der tut wider Billigkeit. 0 wie wol verm&hlt ihr euch, ihr zwei unbefleckten Miindel Das erfreute Stemenreich 40 unterschreibt die beiden Biinde. Hymen, den es abgesandt, schlagt durch die gepaarte Hand. Seid nun froh und braucht der Gunst, die der Himmel euch verstattet, 45 Teilt die fruchtgefiillte Brunst, die ihr oft im Wundsche hattet! Was inkiinftig folget dr auf, das mengt schon der Stemen Lauf. (pp. 291-92) The admonition phrased in the chiasmus of the first two lines is repeated and bolstered throughout the remainder of this congratulatory song. Yet there is little to dis­ tinguish this poem from the two which were quoted before. Indeed, the ideas which created the vital metaphors in Friielings-Hochzeitsgedichte. for example, seem to be sinking to the level of maxims and stylized pose. These three poems have a basically nonpersonal orientation, and they 57 become, in a sense, uniform, conventional, and representa­ tive as they elaborate and embellish a single idea. They therefore can be described as characteristic

Gesellschaftsdlchtung. ^ However, it is unimportant how

one categorizes these poems, because even if the idea of universal concordances based on love becomes a poet's maxim, it is nevertheless a serious statement. Even as cliches Fleming considers them to be literally true and philosophically relevant. The seriousness of such amorous speculation will become more evident as this study exam­ ines additional, more flexible applications of these ideas. The following lines are excerpted from the poem Nach seinem Traume an seinen vertrautesten Freund (p. 176). In it Fleming discusses his current dilemma caused by the inconstancy of his beloved. To escape the sense of futility in this relationship he extols his solid friend­ ship with Adam Oleariuss . . . Mich hat zu dir getragen die stille Neigung selbst, die die Gemdter lenkt und gleiche Regungen in gleiche Seelen senkt. Es ist was Himralisches in unsrem irdnen Blute, das seine Gdttlichkelt beweiset in dea Mute, der gleiches Wesens ist, das Lleb1 und Hass erregte, das sie, wie von Natur, in etlich* Herzen legte. Ich werde durch die Kraft der Sternen angetrieben, sie regen mir das Blut. . . • 58

Zwar, es ist bald gesagt: du solt mein Bruder bleiben, der Ausgang aber zeugt, wie weit man dem darf gl&uben. So leichtlich man itzund die Brdderschaften macht , so leichtlich l&sst man sie auch wieder aus der Acht. Nicht Solches ist bei uns, als die des Himmels Pracht durch sein geheimes Werk zu Freunden hat gemacht, die wir es ewig sein. (p. 179* 11* 90-109) This entire poem is less uniform and conventional than the three previously discussed wedding-poems, and the utiliza­ tion of speculative ideas has a more personal orientation than in the social songs. Love and its firm cosmic asso­ ciations do not function as mere representative ideas, but establish metaphysical ties which verify the depth and truth of Fleming’s pledge of friendship. The eternal heavens are not mentioned merely to witness this oath of loyalty, but to suggest that the same divine principle resides in both friends and firmament. In this poem Fleming's personal tone thus blends with an intellectual convention. The following passage is extracted from yet another wedding-poem. The marriage it commemorates is celebrated in February, and the poem is unable to exploit the physical presence of a resuscitated and vital nature as in the May poems. Nevertheless, this passage stresses the importance 59 of sympathetic relations in the entire universe: Kein st&rker Biindniiss ist auf Erden, als wenn sich Gleich und Gleich gesellt. Diss Ganze, was wir nennen Welt, muss gleichfalls so beweget werden. Was ausser solcher Briiderschaft, hat langen Taurens keine Kraft. Du hast dir ein Gemahl erkoren, so dir gem&ss in Allem ist, in der du dir recht &hnlich bist, in der du selbsten dich verloren. Ietzt wirst du, Werter, doppelt reich: du findest dich und was dir gleich. (p. 287, 11. 43-54) As in numerous previous examples Fleming's mind grasps a cosmic necessity in the grouping in pairs (see Paracelsus selection no. I, cited above). The second stanza describes the nature of such grouping for a couple in love. This single strophe proposes that identities are lost in marriage, but then rediscovered and doubled. The individ­ ual thus divides and grows simultaneously during the meta­ morphosing formation of the complete amorous microcosm. The introduction to this chapter discussed a congrat­ ulatory poem addressed to Fleming's friend, Hartman Grahmann, upon the completion of the latter's medical degree. It was demonstrated that this poem thoroughly absorbs Paracelsian currents of thought, and that Grahmann was an advocate of such medicine. The following poem was written

four years later, 1639» and congratulates Grahmann upon his wedding: 60

Liebe, die sich redlich meint, ist der Freund, der uns Leid und Tod verjaget. Lieben und Geliebetsein iiberein wird vom Himmel auch gesaget. Ist dir, Landsmann, dieses Tun endlich nun in dein treflichs Herze kommen, das dir deinen alten Sin g&nzlich hin aus der Seelen hat genommen? Du durchkennst die grosse Welt, was sie h< an und unter diesem Blauen. Billich tust du deinen Brauch, dass du auch nun die kleine wilst durchschauen. (pp. 320-2 1 , 11. 19"36) Reciprocal love is again a formula prescribed by the heavens. Apparently, Grahmann had not been inclined toward marriage, but these verses indicate a change of disposition. Now his actions are described as being consistent with this knoxirledge, because by marrying he embraces the principles he had long since recognized in the "grossen Welt”. He previously understood everything within and below the fir­ mament, and now he is prepared to know and appreciate the "kleine Welt", woman, who is the means to the realization of the complete microcosm. This ode was written less than a year before Fleming’s death in 1640, and demonstrates that Paracelsus remained a source of perennial stimulation

for much of his poetic career. Indeed, this ubiquitous Paracelsian influence is even evident in the following passage extracted from a funeral 61 oration written in 1635: Klagt, Betriibte, wie ihr sollet! Sie ist doch, wo ihr hin wollet. Uns ist iibel, ihr ist wol. Ihr Geist, der ist voller Prangen; nur ihr Leib ist hingegangen, wohin Alles ist und soli. Wo selbst die Natur hin stehet, wo die grosse Welt hin gehet, dem eilt auch die kleine zu. Sterben und geboren werden ' ist das stete Tun der Erden; nur ihr Tod ist ihre Ruhl (p. 276, 11. 19”30) The intellectual convention of the concordance of worlds functions here in an antipodal manner when compared to its. normal application to stimulate life-giving lovers1 activities. Nevertheless, in spite of this context the image is intact, for Fleming's variations on Paracelsus are seldom modulated significantly from the basic theme. Paracelsian ideas permeate many poetic formulations throughout Fleming's work, and it is becoming clear that these theories were not simply adopted in a mechanical manner, but were adapted to varying situations. This will become even more evident in the following explication. In a wedding-poem written in November, 1634, one recognizes the same statements about the unifying poten­ tial of love, but here these generalities are part of a central tension which characterizes the entire poem. This tension lies in the encounter between two complete and radically different theories of love. In a lively collo­ quial manner the speaker establishes the wedding couple as 62 an ideal of matrimonial love with all the Paracelsian connotations which have been reflected in previous poems. Contrasting this positive companionship are all the wedding guests who dwell under the laws of a different system of love, namely Petrarchism. The following lines introduce the poem, and contain the thrust of the initial argument against the Petrarchan’s concept of love: Ihr, die ihr Nacht und Tag auf Lieben zu gedenken und euren matten Sinn mit Sehnen pflegt zu kr&nken nach Jener schbnen Zeit, bis dass die susse Lust, von der ihr mir erz&hlt, als das euch ist bewust, 5 auch euch einst stehe frei: setzt, ihr verwirrten Leute, dass, was ihr doch nicht habt, ein wenig auf die Seite, vergntigt euch selbsten euch! Lasst euren eiteln Wahn, und seht um so viel mehr die beiden Lieben an! Schaut an diss fromme Paar, diss Paar, so zwei an Namen 10 und eins an Herzen ist, das wahrer Liebe Samen aus seinen Augen streut und in zwei Herzen s&et darin es allezeit in vpller Blbte steht und tausent Friichte trbgt! Die Furcht, die Qual der Sinnen, das angstgefiillte Kind der bbsen Erebinnen, 15 hat ihren Tod erlebt. Die seufzende Begier, die Tochter des Avems, die hat ein Ende hier. Die mtide Hoffnung stirbt, das reizende Verlangen, das hat auf diesen Tag ganz seinen Rest empfangen. 63

Kein Harren harret raehr. Das matte Sehnen liegt und tut den letzten Zug. Sie haben obgesiegt, die Beide, wie ihr seht. . .(pp. 69-7 0 , 11. 1-21) These taut lines are full of criticism of Petrarchan love which is described as "eiteln Wahn" (1. 7). The speaker rejects all of the realities of this experience of love, for they are poor fulfillment, and little more than con­ tinuous psychological distress. These lovers are "matt" (1. 2), and "verwirrt" (1. 5), and their major forms of expression can be extracted from this passage: "filrchten", "seufzen", "kr&nken", "begieren", "hoffnen (umsonst) ", "verlangen", "harren", and "sehnen". Such description of unrest contrasts the "wahre Liebe" (1. 8), which the speaker attributes to the virtuous marriage partners. These two lovers embody a philosophical alternative, and . in further excerpts from this poem one can discern that this alternative is couahed in the same generalities about "true love" that we encounter in previously discussed poems. In the following passages the speaker temporarily lays aside his invective against courtly love, and describes the groom. It is suggested that this man is so affected by the panacea of proper love that his work as a craftsman is correspondingly more precise. 64

Bisher ist Alles falsch. Der Zirkel hat gelogen, das Lineal geirrt, das Augenmass getrogen. Er mass, er iibermass, es wolte doch nicht sein, Quadrant und Transporteur, die trafcn ganz nicht ein, der Pleiss, der war umsonst. Nun hat er endlich troffen 50 den viel gesuchten Zweck. Sein Mittelpunct steht offen. Er spannt sein Instrument, wo weit es gehn will, aus: so kommt ihm, was er sucht, auch auf ein H&rlin raus. Er wundert sich selbselbst. Die Tiefe, Breite, L&nge, das recht Gesenmass, die Weite samt der Enge, 55 und was man sonst so misst, das weiss er ungef&hr und rechnets ohne Mass auf einem Nagel her. The speaker contends that being able to find the true center in this physical sense is analogous to the groom's orientation in a spiritual sense. The groom now identifies and measures precisely all possible dimensions without instruments, and his inadequacies as a craftsman are over­ come. In this passage the reader perceives the wondrous perfection which accrues through love. There remain other images in this poem which argue the case against Petrarchan love. In the following lines one again recognizes the intermingling of macrocosmic and microcosmic identities. Here, the bride represents the heavens in the completed microcosm of the human union, and 65 the groom's knowledge of her parallels his increased astro­ logical understanding: Nun kan er besser auch nach dem Gestirne gucken: sein Himmel steht vor ihm. Er schauet nach der Glucken, besiehet den Angelstern, merkt, wo der Milchweg geht und wo das helle Liecht der Jungfer&hre steht. (11. 77"80) Within this implied analogy are the additional connotative qualities of the heavenly bodies referred to. In his bride he recognizes the "Angelstern" (1. 79)* the North Star which traditionally serves as an astrological orienta­ tion point, and which leads the groom to easily identify zodiacal constellations, Virgo, and galactic movement, the Milky Way. In lines 45-56 of this poem, it was ob­ served that the groom's skill potential as a craftsman was enlarged through love, and now we discover that through the guidance of his bride, "sein Himmel", he also acquires a cosmic orientation. Indeed, there are now so many synthesizing parallels that through love, divinity and humanity melt together in a new firm reality: Wol dem, den so wie ihn sein Himmel wiirdig achtet, dass er zu Tag und Nacht die schbne Zier betrachtet, die um und in ihm ist! Er ist den G6ttern gleich und hat schon, weil er lebt, ein sterblichs Himmelreich. 85 Er l&sst die kleine Welt in seinen . Armen rasten, er unterstiitzet sie, ein Atlas ihren Lasten, 66

hebt sie, dass sie ihn tr>. Sein Leben, seinen Sinn, sein Alles, was er ist und hat, das legt er hin in seiner Liebsten Schoss. Er hat, das beste Leben, 90 das iemals Jupiter den Sterblichen gegeben. This reality is built on several paradoxical metaphysical propositions, because in the two-in-one identity of the lovers, such phrasing is possible: man contemplates woman, "die schtine Zier", "die um und in ihm ist. . . ." (1.82); and, "er unterstiitzet sie. . . ./ hebt sie, dass sie ihn tr>" (11. 86-8 7 ). Thus, the opposition and distinctions in the separate microcosms of man and woman dissolve, and, however paradoxical, we gain access to a mortal paradise. In the final portion of this poem, Fleming again juxtaposes the alternative concepts of Petrarchan and metaphysical love. In lines 91-92* one is reminded that amorous perfection, which was outlined above, does not depend on philosophic abstraction and justification. In­ deed, this perfect amatory idea is also very real as is noted in the following description of the groom’s actual "participation" in his ideal: Kein Sinn, der ist an ihm, der unvergniiget blieb'. Er sieht. er htirt, er reucht, er schmackt, er fiihlt sein Lieb. (11. 91-92) In spite of its cosmic analogies this love remains sensual and real, for Fleming does not erect a platonic ladder to 67 attain this ideal. Instead, all of this is realizable in terms of physical reality, and man can achieve "ein sterbliches Himmelrelch" (1. 84). In the juxtaposition posed in the following passage, the above-described perfection contrasts the unfulfilled Petrarchan: • Kein Sinn, der ist an ihm, der unvergniiget blieb1. Er sieht. er htirt, er reucht, er schmackt, er fiihlt sein Lieb nicht wie ein Ander tut, der Tag und Nacht sich gr&met urn etwas, das Nichts ist, doch sichs zu sagen sch&met; 95 ist elend auf den Schein, hat Alles und doch Nichts, wird oft urn Mittagszeit beraubet des Gesichts, blind sehend, htirend taub. Er denkt nicht, was er denket, besinnet keinen Sinn, weiss gar wol, was ihn lenket, und weiss es gleichwol nicht, lobt, was er schon verspricht. 100 Das Wdndschen hat er frei, das Haben hat er nicht. Seid selig, wie ihr seid, ihr wolgetrauten Beidei Und wenn ihr denn nun schm&ckt die angenehme Freude, so denkt auch derer Not, die ihr vor kurzer Zeit noch waret, was sie sein, nun, was sie nicht sein, seid! (11. 91-104) The summarizing phrases in the above quote state that the Petrarchan has "Alles und doch Nichts" (1. 95)• All of the senses of such a lover are confused by contradictory experience, and he is tortured by a dual perception of reality. This is in opposition to the preceding 68 celebration of the universal essence — love, which effects perfect and real harmony. The entire poem is framed by this juxtaposition; firstly, love conceived as a dilemma full of discrepancy and dialectic; secondly, love con­ ceived as a vital principle which harmonizes universal opposites, and which establishes constancy amidst the inconstancy of human experience. Both types of love are characterized by striving, but they differ in the unity or disunity that they ultimately achieve. It is the aim of Fleming's juxtapositional design in this poem to acclaim positive principles and disclaim those attitudes which violate the vision of unity. In the following passage Pyritz describes the relation­ ship of man and woman under the auspices of the second

Minnesystem, Petrarchism: Die Stellung von Mann und Weib ist nunmehr ein fiir allemal fixiert; sie ist vttllig inkommensurable geworden. Er ist der hingegebene Sklave, verzehrt von Glut, gemartert von tausend Qualen, ein lebendig Toter; sie ist die all gewaltige Zauberin ■und grausame Tyrannin, die selber gegen jede Liebesregung gefeit erscheint. Die petrarchistische.Liebe ist ein Meer von Schmerzen. . . This statement of principle is fully the opposite of the reciprocal relationship required to establish the superior reality of the amorous microcosm. However, the juxta­ position of these two principles as described in the preceding poem is still essentially characteristic of 69

Gesellschaftsdichtung in the sense that the ideas compared are uniform, conventional, and representative. It now remains to demonstrate that such a repudiation can have a greater personal orientation for Fleming. The following statements seem to originate in a private mind, and con­ tinue to reject the debasing roles of confused courtly lovers as described above by Pyritz. Instead, Fleming affirms respectful reciprocal relationships which resound with constancy. As a departure point I shall first quote one of the major themes that Fleming develops in a lengthy Sch&ferei which glorifies the wedding of one of his friends. This theme is borrowed from Opitz, and is commensurable with the ideas of painful Petrarchan love as depicted above by Pyritz: Zwei widerw&rtige Dinge sind, sagt Venator recht in Herr Opitzens seiner ’'Hercinie”, Reisen und Lieben: und nur in diesem einander gleich und verwandt, dass sie beide in ihrem Unbestand best&ndig sind. (p. 79) Such inconstancy is a major libertine's rule which domi­ nates much of Fleming's poetry, as Hans Pyritz has proven in his study. However, Fleming elsewhere reacts against this same principle. In the following two passages the poetic "I" reflects Fleming's own sentiments: 70

. . . Ich muss bestfindig lieben. Nicht, wie itzt mancher tut, der sich zwar hoch vermisst und in der ersten Not der Treue schon vergisst. (p. 179, 11* 9 8 -1 0 0 ) In this segment from a different poem Fleming addresses a friend who is about to be married: Nach der Zeit so hastu dich ganz gesetzet gegen mich. • Ich bin ganz erpicht auf Ziige: du erw&hlest dir die Ruh', und der Ruhe Rast darzu giebt sich dir in voller Gnttge. Diss gewiindschte Hinderniiss fbrdert dich, das ist gewiss. Dein1 Gedanken, Tun und Lassen, Alles, was du bist und hast, das giebst du in einer Last deiner Liebsten zu umfassen. Gott, der weiss, wie mirs noch geht. Nun, ihr wisset, dass ihr steht: ich besteh' in Unbestande. Dich verkiipft ein freies Band: ich, wie los mir ist die Hand, bin verstrickt auf weite Lande. Wol euch, iibel mir, dass ich so verwegen bin auf mich! Gott, der mag uns beiderseiten, weil es ja muss sein getan, dich mit Segen sehen an, mich mit Hulden auch begleiten. (p. 315* 11- 19"^2) We thus see that Fleming can go beyond the mere juxta­ position of principles of love, and the negative portrayal of one of them. Indeed, one notes that Fleming even makes value judgements as he measures these two systems. The final common sense prescription to counter the basic "impossibility" of inconstancy and Petrarchan love, as described above by Pyritz, is to recognize that in marriage, love has two goals, spiritual and physical union, and to 71 be loved In return. This interchange between lovers is essential in Fleming’s adaptation of Paracelsus' theories on the relationships between man and woman, and the uni­ verse. Da meint ein Ieder schon ein Himmelreich zu haben, der fest und stete liebt, wenn die ihm, die er liebt, ein treues Unterpfand der Gegenliebe giebt. (p. 6 3 , 11. 1 6 6 -6 8 ) And: Lieben und Geliebetsein iiberein wird vom Himmel auch gesaget. (p. 328, 11. 22-24) Reciprocity, not rejection, and constancy, not inconstancy these are love formulas very often espoused by Fleming in opposition to Petrarchan conventions and manners. The departure point of this chapter was Alewyn's suggestion that other suprapersonal sources in Fleming's work besides Petrarch need further investigation. This chapter isolated one of these sources, Paracelsus, and attempted to prove the hypothesis that Fleming was greatly influenced by spiritual and intellectual currents origina­ ting in this metaphysical physician. It was demonstrated that many Paracelsian ideas become serious intellectual conventions in Fleming's work, and that they influence the poet in various measures. At times they provide the entire substantive thrust of demonstrative occasional verses, and at other times ideas become part of a more personal 72

Lebensgefilhl. According to Pyritz Fleming wrote numerous mannered poems according to the system of love established in the "school" of Petrarch, but it was found to be true that if these two systems were Juxtaposed, Fleming showed himself to be anti-Petrarchan. Especially in such contexts Fleming came to develop from the original Paracelsian matrix a set of ethical principles which he felt should govern amatory experience. The final metaphysical Welt* anscheming, then, lies partially in Fleming's Jubilant celebration of the amorous microcosm, an idea which con­ trasts the distressing chaos that results when a reciprocal relationship is frustrated. In his study of Renaissance pansophistical ideas,

W a g m a n ^ 3 concludes that Paracelsus1 theories are partly the result of his profound participation in the universal human feeling of the essential unity of all nature. Paracelsus, continues Wagman, yearned for a union of that which he subjectively felt and that which he objectively perceived. This need for a union of material and spirit thus often brought him to assume real associations on the basis of thought-associations. Wagman's analysis is sound, and provocative for this study as well, because such a description of the principles which impelled Paracelsus to speculation also help illuminate Fleming's relationship to these theories. The feeling of the essen­ 73 tial unity of all nature controlled not only the May wedding-songs discussed in this chapter, but many other works as well. Numerous poems also demonstrated the fusion of the subjectively felt, love for example, with the objec­ tively perceived, external nature. And more than once do we witness in Fleming's poetry the union of the spiritual and material world. In these poems we also observed how Fleming, through Paracelsus, was able to harmonize and make concrete the idea of love far beyond the descriptive ability of myth or convention. Instead of making us aware of the gap between real associations and thought-associa­ tions, Fleming is able to stretch the Paracelsian fabric of thought until it easily envelops all worlds. The Paracelsian nexus, a systematic thesis built on parallels and analogies, thus offers the poet an infinitely expand­ able framework which easily telescopes the distance be­ tween the human and the divine. It must also be stressed that all this speculation on nature and love is not Panthesistic. It is true that something of the spirit of God, namely the conception of love as the prime mover, is resident in all things. How­ ever, it is only in the curious amalgam of the amorous microcosm that we find the complete inventory of the prin­ ciples which sustain all created elements. Man and woman in union thus become the ontological bond between many 74 realms, and the meeting-place of various entelechies. Thus, this completed microcosm can itself become the object of all teleological speculation, and one need not search nature for the revelation of the divine. This is not to say that nature does not reflect divine ideas in Fleming's work — for it does! Yet mankind alone has the potential to manifest in itself as the microcosm all things found in the terrestial, astral, and divine worlds. Paracelsus was motivated by many of the forces in the Neoplatonic tradition, which stressed the existence of a higher, spiritual realm of the ideal and the universal. However, his views deviated from basic platonic doctrines, because he insisted that man could experience the ideal reality in the realm of objective experience. Fleming follows Paracelsus in this rejection, since he too sought to participate in this reality through love and a proper interpretation of external nature. Fleming's mutiny against extensive aesthetic and philosophical abstractions was described earlier in this chapter: ’’Plato, du bist ein Betrieger!" (p. 347* 1. 51)* Fleming retains the funda­ mental platonic belief in the existence of universal and ideal patterns, but he is anti-platonic in that the properly oriented lover need not depart the realm of the senses through a process of idealization; that is, he need not erect a platonic ladder to attain higher, more noble 75 levels of the love experience. Instead, Fleming reverses these Neoplatonic doctrines of love by making the ideal, a concrete and real experience. It is in the metaphysical synthesizing sensibility of Paracelsus and Fleming that we look for the appropriate concluding image to describe the relationship of these two figures. Fleming's imagination ranged through many spheres of knowledge, experience, and speculation, often guided by Paracelsus, and Fleming became a physician, as Paracelsus. However, Fleming was also a significant poet. In him we see a mind pulled in two directions, the craft of poetry and the craft of Paracelsian medicine; the con­ tent of the former actually influenced by the latter. It is fitting, then, that Fleming chooses Apollo as his mythological patron, for Apollo taught men both the art of healing and of poetry. Fleming pictured himself as a synthesizing master of both worlds, a blend which has been argued throughout this chapter. In his poetry Fleming did not prescribe herbal cures or alchemic processes developed by Paracelsus, but rather metaphysical principles set forth by Paracelsus. And these two arts, medicine and poetry, are made one in Fleming's mind: . . . Weil ihr denn oft erwiesen, dass ihr das w&ret wert, vor was ihr nun gepriesen 7 6

von alien werdet hoch, so ftthrt Apollo itzt, Apollo, der auch mir den regen sinn erhitzt, well er zwei Kflnste kan, umb eure Haar’ die Reiser, die die Gelahrten nur bekommen und die Kaiser, (p. 119, 11. 93-98) And: . . . Auch ich hab' um Parnassen und sein gelehrtes Volk mich ofte finden lassen, hab' alien Pleiss getan um PhdJbus seine Gunst, bin Nacht und Tag gerant nach seiner duppeln Kunst, des Dichtens und des Heils. . . (p. 162, 11. 109-15)

In statistical terms Paracelsus did not control Fleming's love poems as often as Petrarch did, yet this metaphysical motif-complex very often prevailed in Fleming’s vision. In the following chapter I hope to prove that this unifying sensibility influenced the personal orienta­ tion of certain other significant love poems. The Paracelsian Influence will not be as public or identifiable as it was in the works discussed in this chapter, yet subtle associated tendencies will become evident. NOTES

^ Hans Pyritz, Paul Flemings Liebeslyrik (Gtittingen, 1963).

2 Pyritz, p. 147.

3 Richard Alewyn, "Hans Pyritz — Paul Flemings deutsche Liebeslyrik in Deutsche Barockforschung. Dokumentation einer Epoche, ed. Richard Alewyn (Kttln, 1966), pp. 437-443.

^ Alewyn, p. 437.

^ Alewyn, p. 4 3 8 .

^ Alewyn, p. 443.

^ Manfred Beller, "Thema, Konvention und Sprache der mythologischen Ausdrucksformen in Paul Flemings Gedichten", Arcadia. V (1970), pp. 157“89; Volker Klotz, "Spiegel und Echo, Konvention und Individualit&t im Barock" in Festschrift fitr Gtinther Weydt (Munich, 1972), pp. 93”H9«

Q Paul Hankamer, Die Sprache (Bonn, 1927)* p. 101; Karl Vietor, Probleme der deutschen Barockliteratur (Leipzig, 1§21), pp. 55“58.

9 Pyritz, p. 246.

10 Pyritz, pp. 234ff.

11 Pyritz, p. 233.

12 Pyritz, pp. 244-45.

77 78

3 Frederick Wagman, Magical and Natural Sciences in German Baroque Literature (New York, 1 9 6 6 ). See especially chapters V-VI for a description of Paracelsus1 extensive influence in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Indeed, this influence even reached the English Metaphysi­ cal poets: see W. A. Murray, "Donne and Paracelsus: An Essay in Interpretation", RES. Vol. 25, 19^9 (no. 9 8 , April), pp. 115-23. Murray's article was helpful in structuring my own study of Paracelsus.

^ Paul Flemings Deutsche Gedichte. ed. J. M. Lappen- berg (Darmstadt, 1 9 6 5 ). All citationsof entire poems or excerpts will refer to this edition, and will be indicated in my text by page and line number.

15 Schriften Theonhrasts von Hohenheim genannt Paracelsus, ed. Hans Kayser (Leipzig. 1921). p. 191. 16 Paracelsus, p. 192.

^ Paracelsus, p. 1 8 9 .

Hans Kayser has provided his edition of Paracelsus with numerous notes and an introduction. See p. 510 for an explanation of Paracelsus1 astrologische Pflanzenkunde.

19 Paracelsus, P* 3 3 4 .

20 Paracelsus, P* 1 5 1 .

21 Paracelsus, PP . 175-76 22 Paracelsus, P- 1 7 6 .

Paracelsus, pp. 351-52. oh. See Frederick Copleston, History of Philosophy. Vol. Ill, Pt. 2 (Garden City, NY., 1963), pp. 74-d3; Franz Strunz, Paracelsus (Frauenfeld, Switzerland, 1924), pp. 78ft.; Will-Erich Peuckert, Pansophie. Ein Versuch zur Geschichte der weissen und schwarzen Magie (Berlin, 195b)» PP. 199ff. All of these studies are useful intro­ ductions to the theories of microcosmic and macrocosmic relations. 79

Paracelsus, p. 235*

Paracelsus, p. 249.

Paracelsus, p. 231. 28 Paracelsus, pp. 250-51.

Paracelsus, pp. 253-54.

3° Paracelsus, p. 2 9 8 .

^ Paracelsus, p. 300.

32 Ernst Robert Curtius, Europfeische Llteratur und lateinisches Mittelalter (Bern, 1948). See chapter X for a discussion of the fountain as emblem.

33 Pyritz, p. 251.

^ Pyritz, pp. 241-42.

35 pyritz, p. 2 5 1 .

36 pyritz, p. 2 5 8 .

3? Paracelsus, p. 151.

33 Gerald Gillespie, German Baroque Poetry (New York, 1971), p. 71.

39 Paracelsus, p. 203; Wagman, p. 79.

Pyritz, pp. 247-59, views the nature of the relationship between the two worlds differently. He assumes an interaction between the two realms, whereas I assume only the sharing of general attributes of being. Pyritz feels that they have a mutual effect on each other, while I argue that it is only the macrocosm which exerts an influence. On p. 247, for example, Pyritz quotes the first two lines from the following stanza extracted from a Fleming poem in order to prove that just as man, the 80 microcosm, learns to take on cosmic dimensions, so too does the anthropomorphized macrocosm imitate man: Seht ihr, wie die grosse Welt sich nach Art der kleinen hfilt? Weil der Teure heute lachet und sich herzlich frtilich machet, so will auch der ghldne Schein unsrer Sonnen ghldner sein. (p. 140, 11. 57“62) However, Pyritz' description of these lines ignores their context. This is excerpted from a poem commemorating the birthday of the chief delegate in a diplomatic mission in which Fleming participated. "Der Teure" (1. 59)* is this emissary whom Fleming seeks to glorify by utilizing nature's "Zier" to grace a social event. Fleming's attitude toward the macrocosm in this passage is superficial and nonphilo- sophical, and I don't think that he is demonstrating that man actually influences the greater world. This is no more than an image crafted to embellish and to please, and it is in fact the single occurrence in Fleming's variations on this theme which inverts the functions implied within the motif-complex. Indeed, all other illustrations stress only the revelatory function of the macrocosm — it influences us.

^ Gero von Wilpert, Sachwtirterbuch der Literatur.. 3rd ed. (Stuttgart, 1 961), p. 297.

Pyritz, p. 147.

^3 wagman, p. 6 6 . CHAPTER II

FLEMING'S POETRY OF THE MIND

The interests of literary criticism are perennially drawn to the delineation of the elements of Gesellschafts- dichtung and Erlebnisdichtung in the love poetry of Paul Fleming. The reader is confronted with studies which place Fleming's work in the confines of Baroque tradition and convention.■*- He is also confronted with criticism that establishes Fleming as a forerunner of private, emotional Erlebnisdichtung as we know it since Giinther, Klopstock and Goethe.^ Other studies describe the poetic possibil­ ities of a subjective, inventive poet working within the suprapersonal limitations of Baroque aesthetic principles The standard critical image is the love poet who glances over his shoulder at the nonpersonal literary traditions of the Neo-Latins and the Opitz school, and yet anticipates new directions in expression of personal experience in poetry. Critics describe a Janus, a double-faced divinity who dwells in two poetic worlds simultaneously, for Fleming is a poet who belongs to the category of Gesellschafts- dichtung just as he belongs to Erlebnisdichtung. His poetic sensibility is characterized by imitatio. but it is

81 82 also characterized by inventio. He perpetuates major poetic traditions, but he also overcomes them. He is a love poet representative of the age in which he lived, an age well known for its artistic and intellectual predilec­ tions for contrast, contradiction, and paradox. This study will first give a brief outline of Pyritz’^ conclusions concerning the strongly contrasting categories of Erlebnisdictung and Gesellschaftsdichtung. Although Pyritz' study was published over forty years ago it still ■ serves as the standard critical view of Paul Fleming, the poet of convention, and Paul Fleming, the poet of experi­ ence. I shall then utilize much of this traditional por­ trait as a critical background when I provide an alterna­ tive approach to those important mature poems that are Fleming's lyrical statements of personal experience. My findings will not supplant Pyritz' critical categories, but they will describe a new kind of poetic inventio and Erlebnisdichtung which will enlarge the critical view of the range of Fleming, the love poet. The major effort of this chapter will then follow as I demonstrate this approach by examining several poems in detail. Pyritz traces the origins of the most important poetic convention in Fleming’s love poetry, namely Petrarchism. He isolates an archtypal model of a love poem in this tra­ dition, and then establishes that Fleming evolved into a 83 perfect imitator of that tradition. Pyritz' conclusions about Fleming's relationship to convention are described in the following passage: Es wird schliesslich klar, dass Fleming vorerst gar nichts anderes als ilberpersonliche Dichtung will. Er weiss sich eins mit der Gesellschaft; ihr gibt er zurdck, was er von ihr empfangen hat. Wie er fiir sie dichtet, nicht aus unentrinnbarer Hfltigung, so erwartet er - in bekanntem Renaissance- Ehrgeiz - Ruhm von ihr. . . . So ordnet sich der Petrarkist Paul Fleming in den Typus des Gesellschaftdichters ein. . .

The majority of Fleming's love poems offer corrobo­ rative evidence for such a conclusion. However, there is a small number of poems in which Fleming's personal experi­ ence comes to play a role more important than that of society as described above. Pyritz calls these poems the heart of Fleming's mature poetic production when the actual experience of love carries Fleming out of the me­ chanical artistry of Petrarchan klagende Liebe and into the expression of emotion.^ These poems become increas­ ingly devoid of stereotype and convention as Fleming probes himself, his affections, and the principles of love. This shedding of convention began during Fleming's stay in Reval, and culminated in those documents of self- discovery written during his ensuing two-year journey to Asia. In these poems Pyritz detects an "eigene H Ton" by which Fleming overcomes the Petrarchan tradition which had 84 so often controlled his writings. This new non-conven- tional poetic quality, the 11 eigene Ton", is described by Pyritz in the following excerpt: Bereits in konventionellen Ausdrucksformen kann ein Erlebnisantrieb wirksam sein. . . Ein kiinstlerisch fruchtbares, ein pr&gendes oder produktives Erlebnis aber ist erst dann bezeugt, wenn iiber geltenden Brauch hinweg gewandelte Aussage-Substanz sich einen eigenen Kbrper schafft; das Movens solcher Entwicklung ist nicht anders denn als persbnliche Bewegung zu begreifen, die bex-russt oder unbewusst auf autonorae Gestaltung dr&ngt. Dieser Pall ist - mehr oder weniger rein - gegeben in Flemings lyrischem Reifwerk, in welchem seine Abkehr „ vom Petrarkismus sich anbahnt und vollzieht. Pyritz postulates that as the experience of love became a personal, reality, and not ^ust thematic substance for social songs, it became the essence of Fleming's new poetic sensibility. These poems are concentrated subjec­ tivity which is unencumbered by convention, embellishment, and the dialectic of Petrarchism. Pyritz' description of the new poetic acceptability of personal experience continues: Der seelischen Bewegung iiberlassen, fand (Fleming} den Zugang zu einer neuen, individ- uellen Form. Die Reise (nach AsienJ hat den Mut zu sich selber in ihm befreit, indem sie alle hemmenden Schranken des Ublichen und Gewohnten niederriss. Jetzt, wo sich alle Verantwortung und Entscheidungen im Zentrum des isolierten Menschen zusammenzogen, wo auch aus dem Getrenntsein von der Liebsten eine Intensi vie rung der Gefiihle erwachsen musste - jetzt konnte im innerlich gewordenen 85

Bekenntnis das pers6nliche Erleben elne organische und eigengesetzliche Ausdrucksges- talt gewinnen oder ihr doch n&her kommen als je zuvor.® Concerning Fleming's mature poems Pyritz concludes: . . . die konventionelle Typik is iiber- wunden; ein Individualismus ist erreicht, der aber noch in sich gebunden bleibtj es fehlt ihm die letzte spontane Subjektivit&t, die erst das lyrische Bekenntnis vollkommen macht. Auch Fleming war gebeugt unter die Gesetze der historischen Entwicklung, kein Neut6ner von epochalem Range; das ist die Selbstverst&ndlichkeit, die mit dem Q Gesagten schliesslich nur best&tigt wird.y Pyritz, then, realizes that it would be anachronistic to assume that this expression of personal experience is modern in a post-Romantic sense. With our concept of subjective expression we must proceed cautiously, since, although we easily recognize that "die konventionelle Typik iiberwunden {ist, und} ein Individualismus erreicht [ist]", we must not be spontaneous in our judgement.

At best, says Pyritz, this "eigene Ton" is a qualified expression of personal experience, since, considering the overwhelming weight of Baroque convention, it is still a mere shimmer of the subjectivity that will emerge in the eighteenth century. As is the case with many Baroque poets, Fleming criticism often teaches us that the poetic center of gravity is found in tradition, and not in the poet's individuality. However, in Fleming we often find a push- 86 pull relationship between objective and subjective quali­ ties. Because of such a wide divergence in the sensibili­ ties of Fleming., descriptions of his poetic orientations proliferate, and they are often mutually exclusive. 'Two recent studies*^ have dealt with this Erlebnis quality in order to arrive at a cricical perspective suitable to describe poetry of experience in the Baroque poetic world a world that is so often characterized by the uniform and representative imitatio of Gesellschaftsdichtung. One of these studies, that of Ambacher, discovers sufficient "confessional" content in Fleming's later work to conclude: Fleming, considering the nature of his age, went as far as Goethe did in his time. Both overcame the stuff of tradition. Both offer the substance of expression of personal ex­ perience. The difference between the two is the difference in the ages in which they lived, and the dictates of the artistic vogues which then reigned supreme. Such findings align with Pyritz1 identification of the emotional quality in Fleming's mature poems. These generalities thus mingle more m o d e m poetic features with an epoch that has fundamentally different directions. However, I feel that it is not justifiable in Fleming's case to use exclusively these tools of literary definition which are borrowed from another age. Pyritz' descriptive words "perstinlich", "Gefiihl", "eigener Ton","Bekenntnis", "Individualismus", simply do not fully describe Fleming's 87 mature love poems, and a new point of reference for Fleming criticism is perhaps needed. I would therefore like to strike out in a new direction since I feel that there is simply more to the "eigene (nj Ton" of these poems than Erlebnis and the poet’s rejection of naive imitation. The task ahead will be to introduce a new terminology and point of reference, and to begin to reevaluate the poetic ideas and emphases in Fleming’s non-Petrarchan love lyrics. In his study European Metaphysical Poetry Frank Warnke1^ introduces the term "metaphysical" to describe a particular kind of Baroque lyric poetry. Warnke recognizes compositional and ideological affinities in the literary traditions of various seventeenth century European nations, and his study contains a collection of translated ;poems which share these sensibilities. In the following passage Warnke defines this type of poetry on the basis of John Donne, for he finds the impulses in Donne's work to be meaningfully related to the core of artistic principles shared by all the poets included in his anthology. Warnke is not suggesting that such poetry should be described as the "School of Donne", but that Donne is prototypic for the metaphysical poems of his countrymen as well as numerous continental poets, including F l e m i n g . ^ Whatever Donne's specific subject, he is concerned most of all with the metaphysi­ cal contradictions involved in the experi­ ence of it. Even the most superficial of 88

Donne's poems . . . show . . . the rest­ less impulse to plunge to the bottom of the most troubling of human awareness — that each truth has its equal and oppo­ site truth .... The concern with the contradictions of experience results from the attempt to see each experience in the light of total reality. The unitary nature of ultimate reality and hence of divinity, affirmed by both Platonic tradition and Christian ‘ theology, lies behind all of Donne1s paradoxes and defines his final subject as that greatest of metaphysical problems, the problem of the Many and the One. His poetry does intellectually something '• akin to what High Baroque poetry does imagistically — it explores the diverse phenomena of existence in order to meas­ ure them against a final reality in terms of which they are mere illusion. Hence, I believe, the effect of the 'unified sensi­ bility’ which Eliot's early essay estab­ lished as a key term for the understanding of Metaphysical poetry. The persistent urge to unify experience explains Donne's characteristic confusion of erotic and devotional reference, as it explains the radical variety of his diction: the mixture of terms from scholastic philo­ sophy, astronomy, alchemy, and geography with the locutions of daily speech is, like the combination of naturalistic de­ tail with traditional love language, one of the distinguishing features of Meta­ physical style. Although it focuses on Donne this definition entails Warnke's theory of an "international" metaphysical style. In the following we cite Warnke as he describes Fleming's kinship with these sensibilities. As a love poet Fleming is only sporadically a Metaphysical. . . Indeed, only one com­ plex of emotions seems to have moved Fleming to Metaphysical manners of expres­ sion in his secular verse: that experienced 89

by the lover who feels that he has lost his identity in the loved one. The paradox in the situation is intensified and complicated by several developments in the narrative outlined by Fleming's love lyrics. . . . His use of paradox, then, makes Fleming a Metaphysical poet, and other features of the style sometimes appear in his work: Metaphysical conceit dominates Ein Kaufmann. colloquial turns of expression articulate Ist*s miiglich, dass sie mich. and a deliberate syntactical complexity is found in several other poems. But, more often than not, his conceits are Marinistic and his tone formal.1 ' I concur with Warnke, although it can be argued that Fleming was more than "sporadically a Metaphysical".. When viewed from this point of reference numerous Fleming poems gain in tension, intricacy and meaning. Yet Warnke's description of Fleming is too brief to be considered the final commentary on Fleming as a metaphysical poet. Warnke's suggestions are not supported by stylistic analysis of specific texts and tend to concentrate on only a few poetic features. This chapter will therefore examine Fleming more closely in light of Warnke's meaningful generalizations. Only after an expanded discussion and further observation can we synthesize the full picture of Fleming's metaphysi­ cal love poetry. In the intense experience of love Fleming often be­ comes acutely aware of the dichotomies lurking behind human actions, and it is his perception of this problem 90 which puts him into the state of excitement and peculiar disturbance that so confuses critics insistent on describ­ ing him as an Erlebnisdichter. There is a tissue of intellectual consistency as the speaker struggles to come to a synthesis of the dichotomous elements within his experience. Diverse major themes such as the stability of love amidst the mutability of human beings, the maintain­ ing of troth between separated lovers, the central tension of loss of identity and loss of control of the self in the love experience, all become related as the spirit in con­ flict confronts a single overwhelming problem that of the nature of perfect union. Read with this notion of the metaphysical in mind, the poems gain a unity, and become highly serious and even tragic as the speaker explores the abundant contradictory phenomena of the love experience, and vainly measures them against the transcendental reality of a Neoplatonic ideal. Intense emotion thus animates Fleming to become introspective and to analyze his con­ sciousness; an analysis of reality which then provides him with a puzzle that refuses solutions in terms of an intel­ lectually perceived ultimate reality. The poet accordingly develops a new relationship to this poetry of experience precisely because he has such a strong urge to unify that experience. To this point, a summary of these new critical criteria suggests that the poems articulate intellectual 91 problems that result when Fleming "views his emotional .. 18 responses in terms of their metaphysical mysteries . The mystery, the puzzle, is the ancient metaphysical prob­ lem of relating the Many into the O n e . T h e poet then pursues a solution to that problem; the word "pursue" is stressed because the poems often remain inconclusive and frustrated by the troubling awareness that within the poem's subject matter each truth of experience has its equal and opposite truth. This awareness disquiets the speaker and produces the emotional and intellectual tur­ bulence that characterizes these poems. If these works are viewed with respect to such emphases, we expand this poet's range beyond Pyritz1 delineation in terms of "Bekenntnis", "Gefiihl", and "perstinlich". In the previous chapter it was demonstrated that Fleming was not just a dealer in far-fetched mysteries that produce a peculiar metaphysical tenor. If the poems to be discussed in this chapter have a particular tone, it is perhaps the result of certain late Renaissance pre­ occupations in which the discussion of love easily impelled toward philosophical consideration. Indeed, in the expli­ cation of the previous chapter it was realized that Fleming was actually devoted to the exposition of a metaphysical view of love according to Paracelsus. Just as Pyritz dem­ onstrated that Petrarchism was a system that literally con­ 92 trolled many of Fleming's love poems, I demonstrated that Paracelsian theories of cosmic relations were yet another tradition that greatly affected the development of Fleming, especially in the case of numerous demonstrative occasional verses. In the following I shall briefly describe certain general conclusions from the previous chapter. These ideas parallel the problem of the Many and the One, in that all such speculation attempts to expunge any sense of the dichotomies encountered in human experience, and attempts to attain a Platonic sense of unified and ideal patterns. Such an outline will thus establish a nameable philosophi­ cal antecedent to the metaphysical underpinnings of the poems to be discussed later. Paracelsian speculation created concepts and terms that attempted to reconcile opposites and achieve harmon­ ious unity. It described vital principles that fuse universal sympathies and antipathies, and establish con­ stancy amidst inconstancy as man becomes the unifying bond between all created elements. Man and woman can form an amorous microcosm, and the two-in-one identity of this curious amalgam is in itself the solution to the problem of the Many and the One. In Fleming's adaptation of Paracelsus there is no perception of dual realities. In­ stead there is only the conceptualization of universal correspondences which accommodates Fleming's urge to unify 93 all actions and to tune the love experience to a Divine Harmony. Fleming's synthetic sensibility thus grasps various cosmic parallels by which spirit and matter, divinity and humanity melt together in firm poetic realities. These parallel macrocosmic-microcosmic processes are the propo­ sitions by which one transcends the innumerable circum­ stances that militate against our yearn for union, and we gain access to a mortal paradise. The oppositions and distinctions in creation dissolve into unity, all of which is an analogy for the perfection possible in love. The nature of being as perceived in the harmonious macrocosm can, and should, parallel the attributes of being in man, for the universe is filled with sympathetic parallelism. Man is thus able to overcome his separation from woman, nature, and God. This brief outline at least demonstrates the meta­ physical preoccupations of the poet when he considers love. That is, Fleming perceives multiple levels of ideal and reality fusing in the crucible of Paracelsian thought, in which harmony and unity are attained. He probes contra­ dictory mysteries of experience, and manages to fuse the dissimilarities in statements that are often beyond logic. The poems of the previous chapter are structured throughout to demonstrate coherently this awareness of cosmic unity; 94 they are not facile borrowings from Paracelsus; on the contrary, they are an integral idea matrix which remained with Fleming and convinced him of infinite human possibil­ ities in realizing the ideal synthesis in love. I now have the metaphysical starting-point, Paracel­ sian integration of the Many into the One, to begin to explain the fusion of thought and feeling in certain of Fleming’s more individualized poems. This is the philo­ sophical antecedent to Fleming’s awareness of the possibil­ ity of a paradoxical union of spiritual and material realities. With this knowledge I can now reach much deeper than the poet1s Erlebnis in searching for the unique "eigene jn) Ton" of his later poems. Indeed, it has been argued that it is Fleming’s central impulse to view emo­ tional experience in terms of its implicit metaphysical problems, and in the poems which follow I am able to describe a spirit in conflict which measures emotional responses in the most cerebral of terms. Such a sensibil­ ity pursues a principle of unity in poems which are psychological, analytical, intellectual, and, in the end, disillusioning. Searching deeply beneath the surface of experience, the poems become dramatizations of the attempt to define and control the clash between subjective and objective self-knowledge. 95

It was earlier demonstrated that in the love experi­ ence Fleming grasped a cosmic harmony that was felt and seen, hut I shall now discuss poems which argue, plead, demand, and surrender, as the poetic self vainly tries to transmute the principles of spiritual union into nonphilo- sophical concrete terms. The pure substance of Paracelsian experience is corrupted in these poems, and this study's excursion into Fleming's poetic adaptations of Paracelsus can now serve as the positive example of the poet's striv­ ing in a metaphysical sense. The poems which will be ex­ amined are the negative examples of this envisioned end, and although they seem to form a fragmented study in dis­ cord, they all gain a deep unity as they fuse the mind with emotions, and image with concept, in their serious discus­ sions of the chasm between the actual and the ideal. This introduction is not suggesting that sleuthing for Fleming's poetic heritage, or the establishment of Fleming as an early cultivator of Erlebnisdichtung is meaningless — on the contrary! However, too many studies overschematize in their argumentation for or against Gesellschaftsdichtung or Erlebnisdichtung. and too few commentators focus on the total poetic effect of some of Fleming's love lyrics* In order to isolate the unique tone of these poems I would like to return to the texts. This introduction has defined a metaphysical tone, and the 96 following analyses will attempt to verify this claim by describing the style* structure and ideas which communicate this attitude. There should be a word of caution: an analysis of tone is a difficult task* for the final proof of this chapter's central idea rests upon the effect of accumulating evidence. The following interpretations will therefore multiply supportive examples* and the unity of tone in these poems will only gradually become apparent. Throughout, the basic argument will be sustained that the "eigene Ton'1 of these poems is dictated by reason and logic as the poetic "I" undertakes to illustrate* analyze and debate various as­ pects of the love experience.

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Pein der Liebe I 1st dieses nun das sttsse Wesen, nach dem mich so verlanget hat? 1st dieses der gesunde Rat* ohn1 den ich kunte nicht genesen? 5 Und ist diss meines Wehmuts Frucht, die ich so emsig aufgesucht? II 0 Feind* o Falscher* o Tyranne, Kupido, das ist deine List! Der bist du* der allzeit bist. 10 Du hast mich nun in deinem Banne. Der Dienst der falschen Ledigkeit hat meiner Freiheit mich entfreit. 97

III Wie unverwirrt ist doch ein Herze, das nicht mehr als sich selbsten kennt, 15 von keiner fremden Flamme brennt selbst seine Lust und selbst sein Schmerze! Seit dass ich nicht mehr meine bin, so ist mein ganzes Gliicke hin. IV Sie, diss Mensch, diese Halbgtitinne, 20 sie, die ists, mein erfreutes Leid, die Kraft der starken Trefligkeit, treibt mich aus mir und meinem Sinne, so dass ich sonst nichts urn und an als sie nur achten muss und kan. V 25 Ich schlaf1, ich tr&ume bei dem Wachen, ich ruh‘ und habe keine Ruh‘, ich tu' und weiss nicht, was ich tu1, ich weine mitten in dem Lachen, ich denk', ich mache diss und das, 30 ich schweig', ich red1 und weiss nicht was. VI Die Sonne scheint fiir mich nicht helle, mich kiihlt die Glut, mich brennt das Eis, ich weiss und weiss nicht, was ich weiss. Die Nacht tritt an des Tages Stelle. 35 Itzt bin ich dort, itzt da, itzt hier, ich folg1 und fliehe selbst fiir mir. VII Bald billig’ ich mir meinen Handel, bald drauf verklag1 ich mich bei mir. Ich bin ver&ndert fiir und fiir 40 und standhaft nur in stetem Wandel. Ich selbst bin mit mir selbst nicht eins. Bald will ich alles, bald gar keins. VIII Wie wird mirs doch noch endlich gehen? Ich wohne nunmehr nicht in mir. 45 Mein Schein nur ist es, den ihr hier in meinem Bilde sehet stehen. Ich bin nun nicht mehr selber Ich. Ach Liebe, worzu bringst du mich!20 In this poem Pyritz finds many of the set patterns of expression and behavior that the Petrarchan tradition bequeathed to Fleming: 98

Ein steuerloses Hin - und Hergeworfensein auf dem Meer der Gefiihle, ein Gegen - und Ineinander von Furcht und Hoffnung, Niedergeschlagenheit und Hochsinn, Weinen und Lachen; Verdunklung des Bewusstseins, Unkenntnis des eigenen Willens, und Handeln wider bessere Einsicht; stummes Sprechen und blinde Schau, Frost und Glut im gleichen Augenblick (oder: Frost im Sommer, Glut im Winter), ein Gleiten zwischen Leben und Tod - das sind die Symptome des Liebesirrsals. 1 This listing of extreme reactions indeed matches the catalogue of symptoms described in the poem in lines 25-36, and substantiates Pyritz1 claim that Fleming was a master of the principle of antithesis according to Petrarch. Yet Pyritz also acknowledges the interplay of a non-artificial tone in this poem, but he goes no further than calling it

o p ,:Bekenntnis". He thus describes a tension between the poet's real experience and those Petrarchan experiences Fleming simulates for the sake of a poetic exercise. Yet it can be argued that this poem is not concerned with the exploitation of Petrarchan conventions, but with the inter­ pretation and analysis of the subject. The poem may speak in borrowed phrasings, but the mind portrayed here operates independently with clinical accuracy as it explores the system of klagende Liebe. The ode is an exhaustive attempt to describe the inner disorder of the speaker in love, and it does not affirm this grim state, but demands release from it. The tension, therefore, is within the poetic ’’I" and lies between passion and the desire for clarity and balance. 99

Pyritz' term "Bekenntnis" can thus be replaced by "analysis". Fleming is not addressing that essential element of true Petrarchan poems, the unreasonable and disdainful woman. Instead, he addresses himself, and the poem becomes a monologue as the poetic "I" describes the exact nature of the "Pein" he has discovered in love. The particular state of love being scrutinized is klagende Liebe, which can be a meaningful model of poetry, and which can offer a manageable form to the lives of dedicated Petrarchans. Fleming's apprehension of this mode of experience and artistic activity, however, clashes with his basic urge to unify. This urge has already been described in Paracelsian poems of the previous chapter which revel in poetic reali­ ties of harmonic individuality and synthesis in love. Earlier poems accommodated Fleming's urge for the trans­ cendental in verses such as: "Auch wir sind den Gtittern

gleich durch unserer Liebe Gaben.*' (p. 63> 1. 165). Woman was the means to attain a mortal paradise; she was a "Halbgtittine" (p. 66, 1. 273).» and "die schtine Halbgtitinne" (p. 67, 1. 376). In Pein der Liebe. woman is still "diese Halbgbttinne" (1. 10), but something is amiss. We become aware of the problem in the first stanza. Love, as it was portrayed in the epithalamia of the last chapter, was 11 das siisse Wesen", and "der gesunde Rat" (11. 1-3)- However, 100 the following Petrarchan analysis of emotional frustration belies the truth of earlier doctrines of love. Indeed, this study discovered In the previous chapter only sympa­ thies and parallism in love. Now we find that woman ". . .treibt mich aus mir und meinem Sinne" (11. 22), and in the strictest sense the poetic "I" is beside himself: "Ich wohne nunmehr nicht In mir. ..." (1. 44). Whereas the individual was earlier attuned to divine corresponden­ ces according to Paracelsus, this speaker isn't even con­ soled by the unity of his self. A Petrarchan insistence upon a chaotic flux of mind simply does not suffice as a modus vivendi for Fleming's persona. A true Petrarchan establishes himself as the intersection of powerful antithetical forces. He ascribes equal strength to the forces and suspends himself between the polar reactions. The stylistic manifestations of this principle lie in the frequent yoking together of opposites in antithesis and oxymoron which affirm the absurdities of the love experience: "mich kdhlt die Glut, mich brennt das Eis" (1. 32). Fleming's persona, however, rejects this equipoise and dual vision. He senses a threat in the Petrarchan mode, and tends to resist the archetypal pattern of klagende Liebe. He would rather impose restraints upon his rampant imagination, and reunify his affections, his mind, and his will, all of which are now uncontrollable 101 because of this experience. Indeed, the third stanza states the speaker's rejection of this high voltage ten­ sion, and his desire to restore unity. ^ The fourth stanza returns to the analysis of the speaker's situation, and the fifth and sixth immerse him completely in a Petrarchan situation. Each line is a bind­ ing of opposites as the poem mercilessly steps up the antithetical voltage. Stanza seven then slows the tempo and reacts to the intensity of the preceding record of absurd activities: Bald billig1 ich mir meinen Handel bald drauf verklag ich mich bei mir. (1. 37) In these lines we are especially aware that reason is speaking — the logical faculty trying to cope with its confused state. The rational self, however, cannot extract itself from its dilemma and can do no more than describe the phenomenon: [ich binj standhaft nur in stetem Wandel.” (1. 40). The entire self is locked into this pattern because yet another faculty, the will, persists in this duality and fragmentation: "Bald will ich alles, bald gar keins" (1. 42). To complete this image of total inner chaos, stanza four describes.the speaker's affections and their appetites which are completely dominated by the beloved: sie, die ists, mein erfreutes Leid, die Kraft der starken Trefligkeit, treibt mich aus mir und meinem Sinne (11. 20-22) 102

? '■ In such a manner the analytic speaker presents us with a full pattern of consciousness that is without any sense of oneness. The level of discord is increased if we are reminded of the first stanza, and the speaker’s feeling that he has been deceived. These lines beg to refer to a different conception of the love experience that was characterized by unity. Here there is only fragmentation. The speaker informs us that his intellectual and psychological compass has been damaged. He has lost all control as well as identity. He also becomes a manifestation of the Baroque dichotomy between appearance and reality: Mein Schein nur ist es, den ihr hier in meinem Bilde sehet stehen. Ich bin nun nicht mehr selber Ich. (11. 45-^7) Some of this, of course, could be said by any poet in the "school of Petrarch", but there is too much self-aware intellectuality to label this poem "a standard case history of the totally committed Petrarchan lover," as one Baroque oh scholar does. Instead, it is critical and investigative and is distressed by the Petrarchan view of love. Begin­ ning in the first stanza of the poem emotional experience in the Petrarchan vein presents a puzzle, and each succes­ sive stanza persists in plunging to the core of the contra­ dictions in the speaker’s awareness. The speaker does not merely report his experience in a borrowed voice, but 103 reveals a unique power of detachment, "an ability to hold an experience at arm*s length, inspect it, explore it* judge it.This is not to say that the confines of rhetorical convention are exploded in this poem but that it is at least more than a well wrought document in the manner of a traditional love poem. Indeed, it tends to rej'ect this view of experience in the course of analyzing this troubling puzzle. The speaker measures his "impos­ sible" reactions intellectually, but finally remains disillusioned and perplexed.

Entsagung I Und soli es nun nicht anders gehen, ich muss von ihr gehasset sein? So lass die eiteln Sachen stehen, mein Sin, und gieb dich nur dareinj 5 0 wol dem, welcher ist vergnilget, wie sein Verh&ngnis sich auch filget! II Kein bessrer Rat Ist, als ertragen diss, was man doch nicht findern kan. Ein feiger Mut hebt an zu zagen. 10 Best&ndig sein, das tut ein Man, sieht Beides an, gleich in Geberden: erfreuet und betrQbet werden. Ill Zwar ofte werd’ ich seufzen mttssen, wenn ich erw&ge jene Zeit, 15 da ich den schflnen Mund zu kflssen mit gutem Fuge war befreit, da ich des Lebens stisses Wesen von ihren Lippen durfte lesen. 104

IV Was aber? Soli mich etwas kr&nken, 20 das nichts ist als ein blosser Wahn? Ich will vielraehr mich dahin lenken, wohin mich Dapferkeit weist an und den verg&llten Siissigkeiten mit grossem Herzen widerstreiten. V 25 Das hat>’ ich wol gedenken k&nnen. Wer klug ist, baut nicht auf den Sand. Wer suchet Trost bei leichten Sinnen, bei Unbest&ndigkeit Bestand, bei Schatten Licht, bei Tode Leben? 30 Kan mir denn Nichts nicht Alles geben? VI Die glatte Gunst der falschen Frauen ist ein zerbr&chig, schlipfrich Eis, betreugt den Fuss, der drauf will trauen, an nichts mehr als an K<e heiss, 35 kan nichts nicht als die Augen blenden und wird zu Wasser unter H&nden. VII Wer ihnen traut, pfliigt in die Winde und saet auf die wiiste See, misst des verborgnen Meeres Griinde, 40 schreibt sein Ged&chtniiss in den Schnee, schbpft, wie die Schwestem ohne Liebe, das Wasser mit durchbohrtem Siebe. VIII Der freie Wind f&hrt ohne Ziigel, ein leichter Pfeil eilt auf Gewin, 45 der starke Plitz hat schnelle Fliigel, ein strenger Fall scheusst plbtzlich hin, fiir ihren Sinnen sind nicht schnelle Luft, Pfeile, Plitz und Wasserf&lle. IX Wer will dem Panther abewaschen 50 was man auf seinera Riicken schaut? Sie weichet keine'r Seif1 und Aschen, des braunen Mohren schwarze Haut. Der Wankelmut und leichte Zoren ist alien Weibern angeboren. X 55 Was spielet giildner als die Flammen, was brennt auch mehr als eben sie? Wo Lust ist und Gefahr beisammen, da ist das Gliick ohn* Wandel nie. Schau zu, der du zu kiihne liebest, 60 dass du dich freuend nicht betriibest! 105

XI Wer weiss nicht, wie sich Venus stache, dass ihr das Antlitz lief voll Blut, als sie Adonis Rosen brache? Dem Strauche wuchs daher der Mut. 65 Die Farbe hat er angenommen, darvon die Purpur-Rosen kommen.

XII Der siisse Saft der gelben Bienen, Kupido, der verfiihrte dich; da du dich woltst zu tief erkiihnen, 70 so kriegst du einen bittern Stich. Diss dein Exempel lehret Alle: wo Honig ist, da ist auch Galle. XIII Es ist ein Wechsel aller Sachen. Auf Schein kommt Plitz, auf Tag folgt Nacht, 75 ein nasses Leid auf trucknes Lachen, auf Wollust das, was Eckel macht, Und diese, die dich gestem liebet, ists, die die heute so betrilbet. XIV Nicht, dass ich daher hoffen wolte, 80 (wo Hoffnung bei Verzweiflung ist), dass sie mich wieder lieben solte. NeinI Sie hat einen Sinn erkiest, dem fester Stahl nicht zu vergleichen und harte Diamanten weichen. XV 85 Sie darf sich darum nicht erheben, dass sie mich hat gegeben hin. Ich kan, Gott Lob! ohn1 sie wol leben. Wer sie ist, weiss ich, dass ich bin. Was einem einmal wird genommen, 90 um das kan er nicht zweimal kommen. XVI Will sie schon itzt von mir nicht wissen,- sie heisst mich weder Freund noch Feind,- noch dennoch wird sie sagen mttssen, dass ich es habe gut gemeint. 95

XVII Ihr Gift der Zeit, ihr Pest der Jugend, weg Venus, Amor, weg von mir! Forthin so dien' ich nur der Tugend. 1 0 0 Wenn ihr verwelkt, bleibt ihre Zier. Wer sich der Weisheit ganz ergiebet, der liebet recht und wird geliebet. 106

XVIII Komm, gttldne Freiheit, komm, mein Leben, und setze mir dein Hiitlein auf! 105 Ich habe gute Nacht gegeben der Eitelkeiten schnSden Lauf. Sie sei nun, wie sie will, alleine! Auch ich bin Niemands mehr als meine. (pp. 407-^10) Entsagung seeks to establish a means of dealing with the clashing opposites that are the reality of debilita­ ting klagende Liebe. The solution is the renunciation contained in the title, and the poem describes how this concept should be applied, and argues as to why the speaker should embrace this new position. The first two stanzas condense the propositions of the entire poem. They address ’’mein Sin" (1. 4), which, in this poem, is the faculty of understanding. The poem does not try to bend the will or move the affections of the speaker. Instead it exercises logic and rhetorical argument to persuade this organ of perception to abandon tortuous love. That this poem aims to convince the mind becomes evident in the logical propositions stated in the first two stanzas. The argumentative basis of these stanzas can be represented in the following manner: Lines 1-2: when 3-4: then 5-8 : because

It is the speaker's opinion that this structure offers a new course of action which will discharge some of the

paralyzing antithetical energy which was generated by the 107 concept of love described in Pein der Liebe. and restore the speaker's self-control and dignity. The poem argues that it is vain for the mind to seek order in the chaotic flux of polarized consciousness. The best advice is to simply resist immersion in such contradictory agitation just as the second stanza suggests: Best&ndig sein, das tut ein Man, sieht Beides an, gleich in Geberden: erfreuet und betrubet werden. (1 1 . 10-1 2 ) It must be stressed that this is not an affirmation of Petrarchan equipoise. It is rather an objective detachment, an "Entsagung,:, which will better hold the self together and escape the Petrarchan force field. However, these new insights still have not impregnated all of the faculties of the self. In the third stsunza the dramatization of certain processes of the mind begins when memory breaks away. Fondly remembered kisses excite the affections which then reject the line of action suggested by the logical prelude to the poem. This, of course, is more than the recollection of sensual experience, since it has been demonstrated in Paracelsian terms that realized love leads us to a mortal paradise. The memory then ignores the faculty of reason which seemed to speak so convincingly in the stanza before. What began as a rational process in this poem has already been stymied by the faculty of memory which persists in retrospection. io8

In the fourth stanza the faculty of reason recoils from the affections as the speaker turns on himself in a tone of self-criticism: Was aber? Soli mich etwas kr&nken, das nichts ist als ein blosser Wahn? (11. 19“20) Memory is deceptive illusion, "Wahn”, and this portion of the self refuses to acquiesce in such indulgence. Instead, reason insists on maintaining control of the entire person­ ality through courage and logic. Stanza five sustains the hard logic that rejects memory and the affections it can excite. It is also a denial of the conundrum of antithetical reasoning. Finally, it serves as the introduction to the next seven stanzas, the main body of the poem that tries to convince the speaker of the principle of "Entsagung" as stated in the first two stanzas. In this section of analogical definition, the speaker creates a detachment to facilitate the presentation of an argument. The numerous conceits are not used to embellish this misogynist's statement, but to define the concept of mutability in the love experience. These metaphors do not predicate similarity in the likeness of the things compared, 26 but predicate a sameness in abstract essence. They do not attempt to show what the false beloved is like in terms of something elsej that would be the common Baroque 109 aesthetic principle of Urnschrelining by which a concept is restated in terms of one of its components or adjuncts. 2 7' Instead, these images attempt to define how changeable love works, and each metaphor in itself becomes an insight into that experience. The images designate that malleable, mutable ice and snow are like the main premise, namely the changeable favors of woman. They also designate that wind, arrows, and lightning barely match the speed of her vacil­ lations and caprice. The conceits continue, and each defines the argument by analogy. In each case the meta­ phorical expression tends to serve a single function, name­ ly to operate as arguments pertinent to the central theme of "Entsagung". In this manner there is a reciprocal relationship between the conceits and their context, in that each figure argues the statement: "Wer klug ist, baut nicht auf den Sand" (1. 26). Also, since these conceits establish the inevitability of such impermanence, they continue to argue the original proposition: Kein bessrer Rat ist, als ertragen diss, was man doch nicht &ndem kan. (1 . 7-8 ) The last stanzas in this series utilize mythology to produce the final argument by analogy. From the myths of Venus and Cupid the speaker extracts an inversion of their qualities to argue that even the divinities of love are victimized by this deceitful changeability. The speaker thus integrates a retailored mythology into the poem, and 110 all seven stanzas become subservient to the presentation of the argument that the speaker should learn to hate love.2® In contrast to much poetry written in a facile "baroque" style, this is not a list of metaphors as a simple rhetorical exercise. They do not circumscribe the poetic subject in terms of its attributes, which often removes these images from any cohesive significance. Logic is much more Important than rhetoric here because the im­ ages have a central function in the poem's attempt to define and argue. Hence, Entsagung is a thought process, "a passage created to arrive at an insight, and that passage must needs go through the mind."29 To this point the poem has argued on the basis of opinion that all women are deceitful. In stanza thirteen the speaker begins to argue on the basis of an empirical certainty: Es ist ein Wechsel aller Sachen. Auf Schein kommt Plitz, auf Tag folgt Nacht (11. 73-74). This premise states a law and seems logical and convincing. However, in spite of all this regard for clarity, the poem begins to argue fallaciously when the speaker states that his beloved Is exempt from the law "ein Wechsel aller Sachen" (1. 73, italics added). His disdainful lover thus becomes the exception to all of nature in that she resists the principle of alternation, and will persist in her Ill rejection. By arguing logically and then circumventing • and transcending that logic, the speaker is able to stress his beloved’s determination. Also, if the speaker convinces himself of her immobility of disaffection, then he need not be tortured by the hope that she might some day return his love. However, this poem as a passage through the mind has led to some confusing insights. The arguments of the pre­ ceding stanzas produce claims which now contradict each other. We become aware of the clash of equal truths which defy all logic and compound our sense of the absurdity inherent in certain experiences. We can now appreciate the quality of the speaker’s despair amidst abundant contradic­ tion: Nicht, dass ich daher hoffen wolte (wo Hoffnung bei Verzweiflung ist), dass sie mich wieder lieben solte. (1 1 . 79”8l) Through logical presentation the speaker hopes to transcend the situation that causes him to suffer. He re­ sists with all his rational power the natural tendency to hope for a reconciliation, for to surrender to his memory and affections will renew his suffering. Through deter­ mined indifference he can live without her: "Ich kan, Gott Lobi ohn* sie wol leben" (1. 8 7 ). The speaker's determi­ nation is underscored by the imperatives of the last two stanzas in which he renounces love, and dedicates himself to "Tugend" (1. 99) and "Weisheit" (1. 101). In this 112 manner he will Berve only abstractions and virtues which can not be corrupted by the mutability of all reality. Although the mental operations of this poem have led only to disillusioning insights, and the urge to unify has been frustrated, we nevertheless witness a shudder of rational power as the poetic mind attempts to rebound from the harsh confusion of experience. If the speaker is unable to defeat the diversity he describes, he can at least attempt to establish a pure sense of the "one" within himself.

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An Basilenen. nachdem er von ihr gereiset war I Ist mein Gliicke gleich gesonnen mich zu fiihren weit von dir, o du Sonne meiner Wonnen, so verbleibst du doch in mir. 5 Du in mir und ich in dir sind beisammen fiir und fiir. II Kiinftig werd1 ich ganz nicht scheuen, Kaspis, deine fremde Flut und die 6den Wiisteneien, 10 da man nichts als fiirchten tut. Auch das Wilde macht mir zahm, Liebste, dein gelobter Nam'. Ill tJberstehe diese Stunden, Schwester, und sei unverwant. 15 Ich verbleibe dir verbunden und du bist mein festes Band. Meines Herzens Trost bist du und mein Herze selbst darzu. 113

IV Ihr, ihr Tr&ume, sollt indessen 20 unter uns das Beste tun. Kein Schlaf, der soil ihr vergessen, ohne mich soil sie nicht ruhn, dass die siisse Nacht ersetzt, was der triibe Tag verletzt. V 25 Lebe, meines Lebens Leben, stirb nicht, meines Todes Tod, dass wir uns uns wiedergeben, abgetan von aller Not. sei gegrusst, bald Trost, itzt Qual, • 30 tausent, tausent, tausentmal! (p. 423) In the Lappenberg edition the poem preceding the ode under consideration is titled Schmerz der Trennung. It records with dramatic immediacy the very act of painfully remembering the parting of lovers. In anguish it describes the transience of Joy and the hopelessness of physical separation. With these themes of separation and imper­ manence in mind, one is tempted to read An Basilenen as the meditative mind’s solution to the preceding problem. The actual experience of love as analyzed in these poems has contradicted Paracelsian ideas, and perfection has remained unattainable. The reader has followed the speaker who has ranged to the lowest depths of uncontrolled emotion and disabled logic, but who now experiences love in its highest reaches. In this poem the speaker introduces a new emotional experience, the exchange of lovers' iden­ tities, which, in various forms, will be essential to many of the poems to be discussed later. Here, it comprises a perfect union that at least temporarily banishes all an­ 114 guish and contempt. As viewed here, it is a "perfection" that frees the lovers from a mutable world and gives them the illusion of self-sufficiency. Although this union will later disintegrate into critical existential anxiety, such a view of love can now at least console these lovers during separation. It is an extraordinary experience that recon­ ciles the "many" into a "one", and it is a rapt sense of possession that contrasts the idea of brutal capture as in klagende Liebe. Such a mystical bond has always been celebrated in poetry, for example, as in this anonymous medieval poem: Du bist min, ich bin din: dessolt du gewis sin. du bist beslozzen in minem herzen: verlorn ist daz sliizzelin: du muost immer drinne sin.^ This is not to say that Fleming merely exploited a tradi­ tion in poetry, but that An Basilenen communicates a very real experience as perceived in the poet's mind. Fleming is aware that he has solved, for a time at least, many vexing problems, and his persona revels in numerous figures of paradox that reflect the alogical nature of this bond. Here, a poetic logic perceives the truth of a seemingly impossible experience, and, accordingly, the mind con­ sciously exploits the rhetorical figure of paradox so as to verify and sustain this truth. 115

The first stanza has a simple structure that conveys the main propositions of the poem. Logically analyzed we recognize a given situation* the necessity of parting. The third and fourth line* however, refute the meaning of parting and separation. The negative and positive meanings of these two statements balance each other so that a new truth is'formulated which implies that the lovers are physically apart* yet are not separated. The first stanza in effect states a mystery* and the remainder of the poem will delineate the details of this new truth* and persuade as to the validity of this assertion. The speaker places almost mystical faith in the mys­ terious power of his transcendental claims: "Auch das Wilde macht mir zahm*/ Liebste* dein gelobter Nam11 (11. 11-12). The exotic but dangerous Caspian and the desolate wastes of Asia* all very real dangers for Fleming the traveler* are rendered harmless by the mention of her name. In this manner the simple truth of their spiritual union becomes a vital principle which resides in both the heart and mind, and which bars the entrance of all feat and anxiety. Time also militates against man* but this is easily abrogated as well in the third stanza by the evocation of their bond: "ich verbleibe dir verbunden/ und du bist mein festes Band." (1 1 . 15-16). Their union thus creates a complete amorous microcosm which easily preserves itself against physical 116 danger and the relentless onslaught of time. Throughout, there is a Jubilant feeling that the two-in-one identity of their world is indeed the greater sphere, the superior reality. Finally, the paradox of their new microcosm is rephrased again: "Meines Herzens Trost bist du/ und mein Herze selbst darzu" (11. 17“l8). In spite of abundant incongruities, the poem thus dazzles us with the speaker's growing ability to control and unify multiple experiences. In the fourth stanza, dreams become a line of communi­ cation between the sundered hearts. Indeed, they not only communicate but can actually transmit these persons as objects: Kein Schlaf, der soil ihr vergessen, ohne mich soil sie nicht ruhn, dass die siiss Nacht ersetzt, was der triibe Tag verletzt. (11. 21-24) The dreams of these lovers are invested with as much reality as conscious experience, which is a statement that denies truth as stated in the title: An Basilenen. nachdem er von ihr gereiset war. Although the poem deals with impossible sensations that fly in the face of logic, the speaker nevertheless affixes validity to each of the con­ trary components of the experience. Even if each truth is countered by an equal and opposite truth, this mind's uni­ fying sensibility insists that all of this experience is expressible and unifiable. 117

The final stanza ceases to delineate the poem's propositions. Instead, it dwells on the paradox in this experience, and invokes its mystery in a kind of lilting tribute to its magical powers. It is a power that plays with human understanding, but it finally does establish communication with the mind and the heart. It is an anti- rational approach which contrasts the logical analysis of previous poems, and yet is able to counter the truth of physical parting. Earlier poems were rife with intellec­ tual conflict, and fraught with anguish in the face of contradiction, whereas this ode provides the alogical illustration of unity and reconciliation. The two lovers, two identities, are joined in sympathy, which allows Fleming's persona to reestablish rapport with a Paracel- sian cosmos, and to temporarily come to rest. These find­ ings, however, require additional illumination. The unity attained in the rhetorical figure of paradox often taxes words to the point of a breakdown in communi­ cation. In An Basllenen the speaker's transcendental sen­ sations, although they may be true in fact, almost exceed the limits of language: "Lebe, meines Lebens Leben,/ Stirb nicht, meines Todes Tod" (11. 25-2 6 ) . Pyritz describes the linguistic effect of such a formulation in this manner: 118

Schliesslich wird die Geliebte schlechthin mit Leben und Tod ihres Dichters gleichgesetzt. . . . Besonders charakteristisch ist, wie . . . die Tod-Leben Terminologie ein vtillig selbst- st&ndiges, sinnfreies, Eigendasein gewinnt, zu einem nur noch formalen Spiel entartet, dessen Wirkung im Leser ein Wirbel sich jagender Assoziationen, keine geordnete Vorstellung mehr sein kann.32 It is true that these words do not denote ordinary experi­ ence as the reader knows it. We must reinterpret them, but not on the basis of rambling associations as Pyritz suggests. Here, death is transformed from a figure of speech to a figure of thought,^3 the connotations of which we are then able to interpret on the basis of insights gained in the poem. Pyritz ignores the fact that the poem persuades us to acknowledge a new truth of experience which defies logic, and that this requires a twist in nor­ mal language to express this new truth. Here, the figure of paradox uses vocabulary as thought mechanisms that reveal and modulate the very simple truth of the lovers' union. According to Colie such modulations do not ’'argue” the validity of the statements, but demonstrate their truth as they ’'operate” — operation in the sense that the paradox circles about its own fixed point in order to em­ phasize how multiplex any simple truth is.It is the ideal rhetorical device to attract attention to the unified sensibility which seeks to fuse diversities in experience. 119

In the single channel of this figure, multiple levels of truth merge to create a "oneness" that defeats the contra­ diction and absurdity which plagues the poetic "I". This poem, then, describes a speaker united with his beloved, and utilizes a device that melts language and meaning into a new unity. These conclusions, as well as the results of the analyses of the preceding two odes, can now lead to new suggestions about Fleming, the love poet. These writings share a similar poetic aim, which will now be given further scrutiny. Fritz Strich's stylistic analysis of seventeenth century poetry35 established criteria essential to the understanding of Baroque lyrics. Some of his findings de­ scribe the "antithetisches Lebesgefiihl" of the period, and are persuasive in a general sense: Entscheidend ist jedenfalls, dass dieses Jahrhundert die Dissonanzen und Widerspriiche sucht. Das vielleicht h&ufigste Motiv seiner Lyrik von Weckherlin und Opitz an ttber Fleming, Gryphius und die N&rnberger bis zu Lohenstein und Hoffmannswaldau ist >- die Klage urn den j&hen Wechsel aller Dinge.3® And: Der lyrische Stil des 17. Jahrhunderts ist durch und durch antithetisch. Seine innere Bewegung ist eine von Pol zu Pol springende Empfindung. Alles erapf&ngt erst von seinem Gegenteil seine Wucht und W i r k u n g . 37 Fleming certainly did experience such dissonant contradic­ tion in his life and his art. Indeed, many of his 120

Petrarchan poems abound in conceits that yoke opposites together and revel in the vibrant effect. However, in Peln der Liebe we discovered dissatisfaction with this antithe­ tical sensibility: "Bald billig1 ich mir meinen Handel,/ bald drauf verklag1 ich mich bei mir." (11. 37-38). This is the beginning of an analysis of the antithetical system, the "inner style", as described by Strich. Entsagung con­ tinues to analyze, and attempts to circumvent this system through logic. An Basllenen finally cripples this system of flux and establishes the fixity of mind that we have observed. This last poem is devoid of the turbulent logical process of the preceding odes, and is the vehicle for the controlled presentation of a paradox as truth. In this sense we can corroborate Strich's findings that Fleming deeply experienced dissonance and ambivalence, but we must also recognize the poet's leaning toward synthesis and meaningful p a r a d o x . 38

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Treue Pflicht I Mein Ungliick ist zu gross, zu schwer die Not, so mancher Herzensstoss dreut mir den Tod. 5 Mein Schmerze weiss von keiner Zahl. Vor, nach und allemal hfluft sich die Qual. 121

II Ein Mensch hat alle Schuld, das mich doch liebt. 10 Das, well es mir ist huld, mich so betriibt. Von Liebe kttmmt mir alles Leid. Ich weiss von keiner Zeit, die mich erfreut. Ill 15 Preist jemand ihre Pracht, so wird mir weh. Wer ihr gedenkt, der macht, dass ich vergeh1. Erinner1 ich mich denn der Pflicht, 20 was Wunder ists, dass nicht mein Herze bricht. IV Licht ist ihr Augenglanz, klar ihre Zier. Das macht, dass ich mich ganz 25 verlier in ihr. Sie hat es, was mein Herze sucht, Scham, Schonheit, Jugend, Zucht, der Tugend Frucht. V An ihr liegt Alles mir. 30 Was acht1 ich mich? Mein Sinn Ist Freund mit ihr und hasset sich. Was ich beginne spat undfriih, Was ich gedenk, ist sie, 35 die Werthe, die. VI Sie hat mich ganz bei sich, das sch6ne Kind; ihr auch zu lassen mich bin ich gesinnt. 40 Die Treue, die sie mir verspricht, find1 ich in solcher Pflicht, sonst nirgends nicht. VII Und leb ich mich gleich tot in solcher Pein, 45 noch hat es keine Not; sie, sie kans sein, die mir das Leben wiedergiebt, die mich so sehr betrtibt, als sie mich liebt. 122

VIII 50 Ach! dass ich ihr mein Leid nicht klagen kan! Ich bin von ihr zu weit itzt abgetan. Von Scheiden kdmmt mir alle Not; 55 diss macht mich blass fdr rot; fdr lebend tot. IX Lduft nun mein Glticke so? Ach wehe mirI 01 warum ward ich froh 60 von ihrer Zier? Fiir jene kurze Frdlichkeit hab! ich ein langes Leid auf allezeit. X Bekenne selbst auf dich, 65 mein kranker Sinn, hast du nicht Schuld, dass ich so elend bin? Warum bewegte dich die Gunst? Es war ja gar umsonst 70 mit deiner Brunst. XI Leid' ich fdr jene Lust, so geht mirs recht. Mir war nicht unbewusst, was Frucht sie brdcht*.

75 Und gleichwol kunt1 ich ganz nicht ruhn N** was mich betrdbet nun, das musst* ich tun. XII Euch klag1 ich erstlich an, ihr Augen, ihr. 80 Wie habt ihr doch getan, so falsch an mir! Verr&ter wart ihr meiner Pein. Drum mdsst ihr ohne Schein und dunkel sein. XIII 85 Fliest, (denn diss sollet ihr zur Busse tun,) hinfdrder fdr und fdr, wie vor und nun. Quellt ewig, wie mein Schmerze quillt, 90 so wird mein Leid gestillt, doch nie erftillt. XIV Nicht aber lflsst mein Mut sie eins aus sich. Das junge treue Blut 95 beherrschet mich, so dass ich ganz nicht anders kan, ich muss ihr urn und an sein untertan. XV Liebt einer so, wie ich, 100 der sage mir, wie er gehabe sich bei Liebsbegier. Ich fiihle wol, was mich versehrt noch gleichwol halt1 ich wert, 105 was mich gefSrt. XVI Itzt ist es Mitternacht, da alles ruht. Mein munter Herze wacht, tut, was es tut. 110 Es denkt, von mtiden ThrSnen nass, von ihr ohn1 Unterlass und weiss nicht was. XVII Ein Kranker, der gewiss am Tode liegt, 115 der trdstet sich auf diss, was er auch kriegt. Das ist gewiss, ich muss dahin, doch bleib1 ich, wie ich bin, frisch ohne Sinn. XVIII 120 Erbarmens bin ich wert. Doch klagt mich nicht, bis dass sie von mir kehrt der Liebe Pflicht. Doch wird Dianens Brudern Schein 125 eh* gehn am Himmel ein, als dieses sein. XIX Mit Gott und mit der Zeit muss Alles sein. Ein Wechsel kehrt mein Leid 130 und ganze Pein. Hat nichts als Unbestand Bestand so wird mein Ach zuhand in Lust verwant. 124

XX Habt Achtung auf mein Leid, 135 auf meine Qual, ihr, die ihr Wachter seid in Amors Saal1. Hebt alle meine TrMnen auf und schafft mir Freude drauf 140 fur guten Kauf. XXI Ihr Sternen auch, die ihr vor habt geliebt und oftmals, wie itzt wir, auch wart betriibt, 145 tut, wie man hat an euch getan, schreibt meine Seufzer an in Jovis Plan. XXII Vergess* ich meiner Pflicht, ja, saum ich nur 150 und halt' ich dieses nicht, was ich ihr schwur, so sei mir Venus nimmer gut, so qu&le sich mein Mut, wie er jetzt tut. XXIII 155 NeinI Ich will feste stehn. Sie, wie sie mir verspricht, wird auch mir gleiche gehn und wanken nicht. Des Herzens, das sich selbst nicht schont, 160 mit Treue Treue lohnt, bin ich gewohnt. XXIV So steht mein fester Schluss unwiderruft. Drauf schick" ich diesen Kuss 165 ihr durch die Luft. Diss Lied auch sei von meiner Hand als meiner Liebe Pfand ihr zugesant. XXV Gltickt mirs und sagt nicht nein, 170 der Alles ftigt, so soli sies einig sein, die mich vergnilgt. Mein letztes Wort ist: Treue Pflicht. Treu‘ ist es: der es spricht 175 mehr kan er nicht. (pp. 428-32) 125

The initial 105 lines elaborate the hopelessness of a wakeful "thinking heart". This monologue of the mind introduces a contradictory problem when it informs the reader that this lover’s agony is not the result of unre­ quited love: Ein Mensch hat alle Schuld, das mich doch liebt. Das, well es mir ist huld, mich so sehr betriibt. (1 1 . 8-1 1 ) The lovers are separated now, but it appears that their obligation to one another still remains. Although this reciprocal love seems intact, we nevertheless observe a speaker who persists in grim contemplation which draws him ever deeper into helplessness. In spite of a code of "Pflicht" between the lovers, the speaker is beset by fear and doubt, and insists on groveling in agony amidst, of all things, requited love. To separate and understand these contrary experiences it is best to examine the exact nature of their obligation to one another. Both lovers have placed themselves in each other's hands. Yet when the poetic "I" imagines a threat to their troth he is immediately undone: Erinnere ich mich denn der Pflicht, was Wunder ists, dass nicht mein Herze bricht. (11. 19“21) In the following stanzas, four through six, he describes his basic situation, and explains why his reactions are so 126 extreme. He realizes that he has completely lost his self in the beloved and her charms. His faculties are splin­ tered and he loathes himself: An ihr liegt Alles mir. Was acht’ ich mich? Mein Sinn ist Freund mit ihr und hasset sich. (11. 29-32) If the lovers1 mutual exchange in the previous poem reminded us of the harmonious medieval verses: "ich bin An, du bist /\ rnin , then this situation recalls Friedrich von Hausen*s Kreuzzugslied, Min herze und min lip die wellent scheiden,39 in which the love experience is characterized by an inner split and the resultant immeasurable pain. The obligation to the beloved, and the psychology of love which the speaker communicates is a sense of being trapped, controlled, and passive in this loss of self. His love toward her is subservient to laws of passion which cause confusion and self-hate. In effect, the love he describes is bondage devoid of happiness or dignity of choice. This is the nature of the obligation which he feels for his beloved: "Die Treue, die sie mir verspricht,/ find ich in solcher Pflicht, [as I have just described itj/ sonst nirgends nicht." (11. 40-42). He reciprocates her faithfulness with an acknowledge­ ment of love as an irresistable force. She alone can check this force and restore his control: "sie, sie kans sein,/ die mir das Leben wiedergiebt." (11. 46-47). However, the 127 reality of their separation prevents his deliverance from pain and disarray. This negative view of love causes the speaker's lament to continue. In stanza nine he reproaches himself for having surrendered to transient joy. In stanza ten the faculty of reason is criticized for having been swayed by the emotions. Stanza eleven again describes love as an irresistable force: Und gleichwol kunt' ich ganz nicht ruhn; was mich betriibet nun, das musst ich tun. (1 1 . 75”7 7 ) Stanzas twelve and thirteen indict and condemn the eyes for having betrayed the speaker's inner unity. Even the speaker's will is paralyzed: Nicht aber l&sst mein Mut sie eins aus sich. Das junge treue Blut beherrschet mich, so dass ich ganz nicht anders kan, ich muss ihr um und an sein untertan. (1 1 . 92-9 8 ) The speaker is possessed in a negative sense. His beloved, however, is free to choose and promise ’'Treue". In such terms the interchange between the lovers is blocked by opposite conceptions of the obligations of love. She responds with "Treue", faithfulness and fidelity, whereas he responds with "Pflicht", obligation and duty. Her love grows out of choice, volition, but his love is the result of uncontrollable passions, necessity. Because of this contrast there is no interchange in love; hence the speaker 128 suffers amidst reciprocated love. At this point the speak­ er is aware of the contrariness in this experience, and appeals to an imagined hearer for help in overcoming his dilemma: Liebt einer so, wie ich, der sage mir, wie er gehabe sich bei Liebesbegier." (11. 99-102) He has not pinpointed the problem yet, but the reader per­ ceives the clash of love conceived as bondage, and love as faithfulness. In retrospect we can now see that this collision of opposites is posed in the very title of the poem, Treue Pflicht. and the speaker must reconcile these multiples, and relieve the tension between the lovers. In the course of the second portion of the poem the poetic “I” comes to revise his concept of obligation. Initially we find the speaker of this midnight hymn at a nadir, near death, and yet mysteriously sustained in his suffering (11. 113-119)* However, he does not demand sympathy, since he knows he will never be abandoned by his beloved. In reminding himself of unwavering "Treue", the poetic "I" reaches a turning point as he gradually begins to sense the sustaining power of "der Liebe Pflicht" (1. 123). It is critical that this new sense of "Pflicht" does not mean the capture and "Entselbstigung" of the previous complaints. Rather, it is associated with the 129 generative principle of faithfulness as represented by his beloved. They must share the same stern code that produces solace and unequivocal value in love. It is a new code of activity that raises the speaker from his "sickbed" (1 1 . 113-119), and prompts him to evoke the stars to docu­ ment his acceptance of suffering in separation, and his actual transcendence of it through a new positivism and

"Treue” (11. l4l-l47). After swearing not to waver in his new obligation he describes his new sense of truly reciprocal love: NeinI Ich will feste stehn. Sie, wie sie mir verspricht, wird auch mir gleiche gehen und wanken nicht. Des Herzens, das sich selbst nicht schont, mit Treue Treue lohnt, bin ich gewohnt. (1 1 . 155“6l) The suffering and passion in his concept of love have been eliminated. He is no longer willingly submissive, and he has overcome the abasement of "klagende Liebe". In destroy­ ing this imbalance they achieve a true sense of interchange in love, in which both human beings act, and are acted upon. Indeed, his new sense of activity prompts him to dispatch a kiss, as well as the entire poem as a document of his new attitude and his pledge. Pyritz states^0 that this ode futilely conjures up her fidelity, yet ends in hopeless gestures. I disagree and contend that the poem is con­

structed so as to expunge the speaker’s sense of hazard 130 and passivity, and to establish an entire new relationship between the lovers. The poem traces the curve of this mind from helpless­ ness, “Mein Herz weiss nicht was'1 (1. 112), to a firm sense of purpose, "So steht mein fester Schluss/ unwiederruft" (11. 162-63). It is not merely the vehicle of expression, but rather produces, in the motion of the poem, a new, affirmative statement. In this sense the solution is not self-evident, but conceptualized, and won only after the speaker's intense and protracted tear-filled vigil (1 1 . 106-12). Ambacher^'L points out that however trite this concept seems to many of us today, considering the time and the poetic tradition in which Fleming wrote these words, they were not so: indeed, they were novel when considered in the tradition of love poetry. Finally, the last stanza relieves the tension in the contrary pair: Treue Pflicht. They appear as a linguistic unit only twice in the entire ode; the first time in the title in which they are the conjunction of opposites as I have described, the second time is the final formulation: Mein letztes Wort ist: Treue Pflicht. Treu1 ist es: der es spricht mehr kann er nicht. (1 1 . 173“7 5 ) By now the poem has erased all contrariness, and the two words compliment each other and are introduced as a single linguistic entity: "Mein letztes Wort." The word "Treue" 131 appears alone in the second line, yet it still absorbs the concept of “Pflicht" in the rhyme of “spricht". The two words and concepts are now fused, and the formulation tightens to the conclusive two beats of the final line. The poem establishes a supreme obligation, and diversity has become unity, which then echoes across these final lines. To recognize this union, and sustain it — “mehr kann er nicht."

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Salibene. I Wolte sie nur, wie sie solte, und solt1 ich nur, wie ich wolte, so w&r ich und sie vergniigt. Ach! wie w£tr’ es wol gefiigt, 5 wenn wir nicht so widerstrebten, sondern itzt und fiir und fiir, ich bei ihr und sie bei mir, in verglichner Liebe lebten. II 0 wie wiirden unsre Heerden 10 so geschwinde feister werdenl Feld und Tal und Berg und Hain wttrde mit uns frblich sein. Alle Nymphen wiirden lachen und uns manchen schbnen Tanz, 15 manchen schbnen lieben Kranz in den bunten Wiesen machen. Ill Ich auch wiird1 auf meiner Pfeifen ein erfreutes Liedlein greifen, wenn ich in der Liebsten Schoss 20 alles Kuramers wiirde los, Denn wolt1 ich anstat des Klagen, das mich itzt fiir seiner Pein kaum lbsst mich und meine sein, nur von lauter Wonne sagen. IV 25 0 du schbne SalibeneI Salibene, o du schbne, schau doch, wie sich Alles liebt und in siissen Freuden iibt. 132

Alles wird durch Lust gerilret. 30 Wir nur gonnen unsre Zeit der verstossnen Eunsamkeit. Denk1, ob diss sich auch gebtiret. (pp. Al6-4l7) The structure of this ode consists of the "if” as­ sumptions of the first stanza, followed by the "then" hypothetical conclusions of the following two strophes. In stanza four the poem ceases its subjective hypothesizing as it appeals to bring the reality of this lover’s situa­ tion into line with the ideal pattern projected in the preceding. The line of argumentation which will hopefully budge the unyielding beloved is not new to the discussion of this study, for in the previous chapter numerous poems were described which argue for love in such terms. Indeed, if the argument of this ode culminates in these lines: Alles wird durch Lust gerflret. Wir nur g#nnen unsre Zeit der verstossnen Einsarakeit. (11. 29-31), then we can find this same reasoning formulated elsewhere in an even more distinct Paracelsian pose: Du nur tust nicht, kleine Welt, was der grossen so gef&llt? (p. 336, 1 1 . 11-1 2 ). The speaker admonishes his beloved to acknowledge and imi­ tate a universal necessity. If two lovers want nothing but each other they partake of the generative principle which creates the transcendental identity of the amorous microcosm. If there is no interchange they instead dwell in solitariness which creates more the sense of inner 133 chaos and klagende Liebe (1. 21) rather than harmonious completeness. The chiasmus of the first two lines of this ode states in economical fashion the problems which lead to the arguments of the poem. If wollen. human will, could be made interchangeably with sollen. human compliance with the supreme law of love, then harmony could be achieved (1. 3). This chiasmus thus establishes that these two human wills are noncombining because of different attitudes toward the necessity of love. Although this figure creates a rhetorical balance in terms of syntactic components, it also comes to stress the separateness of the two lovers who have no mutual view of their relationship. The major con­ tingency of their union, then, is the need for reciprocity, which is stated in the following lines: Ach wie w&r es wol gefiigt, wenn wir nicht so widerstrebten, sondem. . . in verglichner Liebe lebten. (11. 4-8) This poem, as all the others in this chapter, con­ ceptualizes an experience, here the failure of love. The speaker analyzes the core of this failure in its inherent contradictory aspects, and then projects, in the subjective mood, the possibility of a return to equilibrium through interchange with the beloved. This poem is aware of a splintered inner world, but instead of simply communicating 13^ this emotional and intellectual unrest in a confessional sense* the speaker chooses to pursue a vision of unity. To communicate and argue this vision in fundamental Para- celsian terms* then* becomes the purpose of this poem. The final evidence.of the mental orientation of this ode lies* in fact* in the concluding line which addresses the speaker's beloved* ,!Denk'* ob diss sich auch gebiiret." The poetic "i" does not try to move her heart* but tries to stir her mind.

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Zur Zeit seiner Verstossung Ein Kaufman* der sein Gut nur einem Schiffe traut* ist hoch gef&hrlich dran* in dem es bald kan kommen* dass ihm auf einen Stoss sein Ganzes wird genommen. Der fehlt* der allzuviel auf ein Geliicke traut. 5 Gedenk' ich nun an mich, so schauret mir die Haut. Mein Schiff* das ist entzwei, mein Gut ist wegge s chwommen. Nichts mehr* das ist mein Rest* das machet kurze Summen. Ich habe Miih und Angst* ein ander meine Braut.. Ich Ungliickseliger I Mein Herze wird zerrissen* 10 mein Sinn ist ohne sich. Mein Geist zeucht von mir aus, mein Alles wird nun Nichts. Was wird doch endlich drauss? W&r eins doch ttbrig noch, so wolt1 ich Alles raissen. Mein teuerster Verlust, der bin selbselbsten ich. Nun bin ich ohne sie, nun bin ich ohne mich. (p. 516) The experiential circumstances in this sonnet have already been described at length in other poems. However, an additional intellectual tension is introduced in this poem since the beloved has been definitely lost to another suitor, and the speaker must cope with a new problem: "Nun bin ich ohne sie, nun bin ich ohne mich." (1. 14). The sonnet is a desperate outburst as the speaker recognizes total, isolation and emptiness. He shudders at this experi­ ence of nothingness, and wonders at a future with no sense of self. This poem is also the undoing of the metaphysical union in the face of experience which inevitably runs counter to man's drive for unity. The process, as I have described it, of integrating the "many", two lovers, into a sense of oneness is reversed in this poem. More tragic than the brutalization of the urge to unify two human beings is the shocking realization that the speaker does not even have the oneness of self in which to find solace. The metaphysical "I" is further mutilated by the radical inversion of his previous conceptions: "mein Alles wird nun Nichts. . . ." (1. 11). This narration of unrelieved anxiety is then driven home in the concluding commentary: 136

. . . Was wird doch endlich drauss? Wkr eins doch iibrig noch, so wollt' ich Alles raissen. Mein teuerster Verlust, der bin selbselbsten ich. (1 1 . 10-13 ) Another metaphysical feature of this poem is its single conceit through which an idea is illustrated and defined by analogy.^ The image of a ship and disaster at sea with all their possible associations is part of a solid Renais­ sance and Baroque poetic tradition.However, there is a distinct function to Fleming’s metaphor which differs great­ ly from the metaphorical instrumentation of typical Baroque style. This '’intellectual11 function in metaphors has already been described in the argumentative operation of the images in Entsgagung. To particularize the workings of the ship conceit in this poem, and to contrast this opera­ tion with Baroque concerns, it is perhaps helpful to refer to Gerhard Fricke’s study of imagery in Andreas Gryphius. In his introduction Fricke describes Baroque Bildlichkeit in a general sense. For example, in the following passage he describes the basic aesthetic concerns of lyric poetry in this period: Die Poesie ist also die Kunst, extreme Zust&ndlichkeiten des Seins, wie etwa das Grauen des Krieges, die Verzttckung der Wollust u.a. durch hbchstgesteigerte sensuelle Mittel, durch Farbe, Ton und Melodie, vorzut&uschen, die Wirklichkeit gleichsam zu wiederholen nicht durch Gestaltung eines Inneren, sondem durch Addition sprachlicher T&ne und 137

Pins els t riche, die dan kiinstlerischer gelungen sind, wenn sie das Wort als solches in Vergessenheit gebracht haben und nur noch als sensuelle, affektsteigernde Impression wirken. Denn nicht auf das Unendliche der Seele und der Stimmung, nicht auf das Pluten des Geftihls, sondern auf den Reiz des Auges und des Ohres, auf die pathetische Bewegung der assoziier-^ enden sensuellen Phantasie kornmt es an. ^ Fricke’s'description of the intent of Baroque style is simulation of extreme experience through sensuous means. Mimetic requirements are slighted in favor of embellishment for aesthetic effect. The adjuncts of the subject being described are emphasized more than the subject itself in order to create a particular strong impression. "Seele", mood and emotion are all less important than Jolting man’s senses and imagination. This, of course, is not the manner of all Baroque imagery, but it is relevant in a general sense. This function, then, is at absolute variance with that of the metaphysical conceit which Fleming employs here. In no way does this ship image simulate reality. It is a sparse figure that does not appeal to sensuous experi­ ence since neither the ship nor the catastrophe have any real contours. We have no impressions of concreteness and have limited associations since Fleming establishes no re­ lationship between the merchant, the ship, and the lover. Instead, our mind remains focused on the metaphysical cir« cumstances of the poem. Fleming does not indulge in the 138 crafting of images for their own sake. Instead he seeks to describe the lover who entrusts his entire self to a changeable woman through an analogy with a merchant who foolishly charges his entire fortune to a single ship on a treacherous sea. Just as the merchant can never expect to recover his cargo, so too does this lover feel that he will never retrieve his identity. In this manner Fleming establishes a sameness in the way the merchant invests and loses his material wealth, and the way the lover surrenders and loses his very being. This conceit does not simulate an idea or concept, but rather defines a particular pro­ cess or event. Of course it is true that any image helps define its subject, but it remains clear that Fleming’s image is solely for exposition and elucidation, and it is in no way decorative. Indeed, there is nothing but a con­ ceptual relationship between the two elements compared, and the mind alone, not the senses, perceives the predi­ cated relationship. In the passage quoted above, Fricke postulates that it would be un-Baroque to be concerned with 11 das Unendliche der Seele und der Stimmung", and this is precisely Fleming's concern; namely to define states of being and metaphysical concerns. Rather than simulate reality, Fleming imbues sensuous objects with new signifi­ cances which the mind then engages. The final distinction, then, is that Fleming’s conceit deals with an intellectual- 139

ized experience, whereas the Baroque style, as described by Fricke, traffics in the appearance of things and em- iig phasizes aesthetic effects. Before continuing it would be helpful to describe briefly an additional poem to reinforce the arguments of the preceding explication, for the following sonnet is also controlled by a single intellectual conceit. (In this poem "Der Belt", line 1, is an arm of the Baltic near Reval. "Harris", line 8 , is Fleming's beloved, Elsabe.) An den Steinbruch zu Reval Du Zaum des frechen Belts, dem deine starke Brust sich manlich setzet vor, dass sich die Wellen brechen und in sich umgewandt sich an sich miissen r&chen und k e h m den schwachen Z o m in leichten Sand und Wust, 5 der du dem Lande Schutz, der Stadt Zier geben musst, der Stadt, so jenseit ist so reich an siissen Bachen, hier an gesalzner See, an Hfihen und an Fl&chen, darinnen Harris wohnt, die Seele meiner Lust. Ich ginge zu dir ein, du Lustberg der Silenen, 10 mich meiner Liebesangst ein wenig zu entw5hnen, so gibst du mir an dir mehr Anlass noch darzu. Du bist zwar harte wol, doch kan dich Eisen zwingen. So lange miih' ich mich, ihr ist nichts abzubringen. Ihr festes Herze muss noch h&rter sein als du. (p. 517) 140

This poem discusses a single subject — the obdurate beloved — and it is her hardened feelings which drive the speaker to a metaphorical analysis of his relationship with her. The composition of this meditation is threefold: first, in the octet we encounter the actual intellectual conceit produced in the contemplative process of the poem. Second, in the preterite narrative of lines 9 “ 11> we find the setting which evoked in the speaker's mind the thought- picture of the initial eight lines. Here, the poetic "I" also describes how he came to this quarry in order to divert himself from his anguish in love. Third, in the final tercet the speaker concludes that the poem's description of the unyielding hardness of rock is insufficient to por­ tray his beloved; in fact, she is much harder. The scene that entails the poem's single conceit is composed in the speaker's mind. To frame his contemplation he proposes a bleak setting which is inhabited by "Silenen" (1 . 9 )* satyrs, who always dwell in the wild places of the earth. Here, the hardness of the rock which fills the speaker's retreat becomes the background to contemplate the unbudging affections of "Harris" (1. 8 ). He then immediate­ ly departs this setting in that he creates the literal image of one of the uses of the rock quarried here, namely a breakwall which protects the city of Reval. Now he had come here to purge some of his frustrations in love, and we 141 find that his mind quickly begins to construct associative images out of the substance of his concrete surroundings. He then describes the personified action of waves crashing against the Reval breakwater, and it is here that we must read with an intellectual rather than a concrete and literal focus. That is, this entire scene should help describe the poem’s subject, a woman’s heart. Indeed, there is an analogy between the way the harder-than-rock feelings of his beloved repulse him, and the wav these imagined waves break upon the wall, crash over one another, and then chu m among themselves until their outrage diminishes, spent and confused. The word "imagined" is stressed because Fleming is not intent on describing a real event, but rather on establishing a conceptual relationship between the action of the sea upon the breakwater, and the action of the harsh lady who resists her lover’s advances. In both cases it is a matter of perpetually wasted energy. After such asso­ ciations it is understandable that the speaker has found no solace in his retreat and meditation. In the end he is only further exacerbated: Ich ginge zu dir ein. . . mich meiner Liebesangst ein wenig zu entwbhnen, so gibst du mir an dir mehr Anlass darzu. (11. 9“H ) 142

As in the previous poem Zur Zeit seiner Verstossung. this sonnet addresses "das Unendliche der Seele und der Stimmung". This conceit, intellectual in nature, does not embellish or entertain. Instead it seeks to define a state of being, and like the Image of the merchant in the pre­ ceding poem it is crafted solely to illuminate the speaker's consciousness. Such a mentally constructed scene surely marks this as poetry of the mind rather than of the emotions.

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Uber seinen Traum. Ists miiglich, dass sie mich auch kan im Schlafe hohnen? Wars noch nicht gnung, dass ich mich wachend nach ihr sehnen und so bekiimmern muss, im Fall' sie nicht ist hier? Doch sie ist ausser Schuld. Du Morpheu, machtest dir 5 aus mir ein leichtes Spiel! Der alte Schalk, der liefe, indem ich, gleich wie sie, frei aller Sorgen schliefe. Er driickt' ihr schbnes Bild in einen Schatten ab und bracht' es mir so vor. Die liebe Schbnheit gab der Seelen ihren Geist. Sie fingen sich zu lieben, 10 zu sehn, zu kussen an. Die siissen Freunde trieben ihr schbnes Tun mit sich so herzlich land so viel, 143

bis dass, indem der Geist noch hat sein Liebesspiel und in dem Schatten scherzt, mein matter Leib erwachet. Das Bild, in dem er sich noch so ergetzlich raachet, 15 fleugt ganz mit ihm darvon und kehrt an seinen Ort. Was tu1 ich Armer nun? Die Seele, die ist fort, mein Leib lebt auf den Schein. Wie wird mirs doch noch gehen? Sag' ichs ihr oder nicht? Sie wirds doch nicht gestehen. Wer o wer wird mich denn entnehmen dieser Last? 20 Ach, Schwester, fiihlst du nicht, dass du zwo Seelen hast? (pp. 217~lo) The speaker’s beloved, he feels, scorns him in sleep as well as during wakefulness. This first line, just as the remainder of the poem,.predicates the equal validity of conscious and Tinconscious experience, and allows the speaker to "dialectically play out the two realms opposite each other in order to establish clarity about his own situation" The thought scheme of the poem describes the speaker’s insatiate desire to possess, which however results in a serious personal loss. Asleep, his spirit is seduced by the imagined delight of the senses, and is led away by the image of the beloved. In this manner, the poem utili­ zes the dream situation to better delineate the speaker’s spiritual and material existence. Such a delineation facilitates the description of the loss of balance between mind and physical existence, and details the exact nature of the profound solitariness the speaker now feels. 144

The sense of reason in the poetic "I” is fully aware of the deception that intruded his mind. He slept, "frei aller Sorgen" (1. 6 ), when Morpheus, the god of dreams, began his mocking game. The speaker describes the process of dreaming in which a specter, a ’'Bild" (1. 14) or

"Schatten" (1. 13)> is detached from an object and conveyed to the speaker. The subconscious mind is very receptive to this specter which then impresses itself on the senses with vivid immediacy. Her "Bild" thus activates the senses which remain operative in the subconscious state, but which are unable to distinguish between objective presence and imagined stimulation. The faculty of understanding, which is nonoperating here, normally reacts only to those images in which it recognizes the reality of the object. Here, there is no such verification; nevertheless the senses react: "... sie fingen sich zu lieben,/ zu sehn, zu kiissen an. . . ." (11. 9"10)* The dream image stirs the spirit and provides the gratification of the conscious yearning described in lines three and four of the poem. In this dream state reason exercises no control, and strong appetites are temporarily sated as the speaker's "Geist" is animated to an experience that remains completely unfil­ tered by the normal apprehension of reality. The entire dream, the "Liebesspiel" (1. 12), is related in the imperfect tense as if it were a real past 145 experience that belongs to the memory. It is Important that it is not described in the contrary-to-fact subjunc­ tive mood, but narrated in the Indicative. Indeed, the only distinguishing factor is the nonoperation of reason during the dream. Then, even as this is being narrated, the speaker's body awakens. Consciousness immediately affixes a "Schein" quality to this stimulus, and it is banished back to the object from which it was detached. This retreating image, however, draws the speaker's animated spirit with it in flight. In this moment of waking, the events of the dream, related in the Imperfect, blend with the present tense of the conscious state. The dream, usually the expression of the subconscious, mixes with reality, and the poem's remaining narrative accepts this double experience and describes the ensuing split within the speaker. Although the poetic "I" twice referred to the dream occurrences as a "Spiel" (11. 5* 12), he never­ theless takes them seriously enough to have his reflexes confused by this short-circuit in the relationship between appearance and reality: "Was tu' ich Armer nun? Die Seel, die ist fort./ Mein Leib lebt auf den Schein. Wie wird mirs doch noch gehen?" (1 1 . 16-17). These motions of the speaker's sleeping mind have caused him, paradoxically speaking, to abandon his self. The essence of his being has been removed, and he is 146 perplexed by this new identity-less state. This turmoil has corrupted the hierarchal harmony of body, emotions, thoughts, and sensations. His understanding, normally the guide of all the faculties, can now provide no insights, and can only pose the five helpless questions of the last five lines of the poem. The disorder of this lover's experience had created a sense of paralysis, and the poem closes with the panic-stricken awareness that he can’t be helped. Alone, this lover knows only disunity, which contrasts the inner hamony of an amorous microcosm founded on reciprocity and the exchange of identities between lovers. In this poem the confluence of dream and reality allows the speaker to describe a multi-leveled experience that defies normal apprehensions. The mind's world is not a phantasm, but gains in substance to render the speaker's loss of identity in the beloved as a real experience. Yet it is more than a communication of a sense of desolate isolation. It is rather the rendering perceivable of a sense of metaphysical solitariness caused by the "impossi­ ble" migration of the speaker's self to another person. The poem is not about the magic of dream, nor is it a contemptuous reproach of the disdainful lady who scorns him throughout; in fact, the poem tells us that she is innocent of any malicious designs (1. 4). Instead, it uses 147 the dream situation as the threshold to the complicated workings of the mind; a mind which has knowledge of an experience that has no logical or empirical basis, but which is nevertheless true. It is a mind which is dis­ tressed by the clash of opposites and contradictory ex­ periences, but still balances multiple levels as equal claimants to validity and reality. This balance is empha­ sized in the paradoxical summary of this meditation: ”Ach, Schwester, filhlst du nicht, dass du zwo Seelen hast?” (1. 20). In short, it is a poetic sensibility which recog­ nizes riddles in the love experience, and reacts with unrelieved anxiety in trying to establish clarity about this condition.

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Auf ihr Abwesen. Ich irrte hin und her und suchte mich in mir, und wuste dieses nicht, dass ich ganz war in dir. Ach! tu dich mir doch auf, du Wohnhaus meiner Seelen! Komm, Schtine, gieb mich mir, benim mir dieses Qu&len! 5 Schau, wie er sich betriibt, mein Geist, der in dir lebt! Ttitst du den, der dich liebt? Itzt hat er ausgelebt. Doch gieb mich nicht aus dir! Ich mag nicht in mich kehren. Kein Tod hat Macht an mir, du kanst mich leben lehren. 148

Ich sei auch, wo ich sei, bin ich, Schatz, nicht bei dir, so bin ich nimmermehr selbest in und bei mir. (p. 219) The introductory couplet of the poem is the concep­ tualization of a particular state of being in love. The speaker searches in the places where his "Geist" used to be, but fails to discover himself. In love, he did not know that he had lost himself and his "Geist" in the beloved. This couplet is a closed structure of syntax and thought which sets forth the background for the dra­ matic proceedings of the poem. In fact, it serves as the prelude to the following twisting reactions as the speaker grapples with the unbearable Angst of separation and loss of self. In the final four lines he then attempts to over come the "death" that he suffers every time he leaves his beloved. After the analysis of several metaphysical poems we again recognize a speaker who is compelled to view this experience of love in its metaphysical terms. This para­ doxical condition initially frustrates the poetic "I", but we finally witness, through the course of the poem's dialectic process, the establishment of a new mental pos­ ture which suppresses, and even overcomes, the unbalance and distortion of the initial condition. Before the speaker's mind evolves into a new state, it first endures the momentary intensity of the drama in lines three through six. These lines are not spoken, but 149

declaimed by an actor overwhelmed by this experience of ’’death". The scene begins with an anguished interjection, and continues through a series of imperative sentences that beg for the release from unrelieved tensions. Each line forms a syntactic unit that focuses on a different dramatic gesture, and each climaxes decisively. As the prelude to this drama had stated, she holds his heart, and now that he feels himself dying, he struggles for release. She resists, however, and the speaker reports to the imagined audience the death of his own "Geist" on this stage. This death through love is a traditional hyperbole, yet in spite of this description of the pain principle, we now observe a poetic logic that rebounds from this emotion­ al outburst and extracts a positive essence from this ex­ perience. The sense of suffering and drama now yields to a cooler voice that argues the opposite presented in the dramatic vignette. The speaker employs a poetic logic that affirms the surrender of one's self to the beloved and retracts every one of the demands he made earlier. There is no hysteria as the speaker asserts that he wishes to remain in his selfless state and that he is herewith rendered immortal. Now when the "death scene" ended, we had a sense of validity and finality in the statements made. We then perhaps feel deceived when the poem cheats all logical expectations and ignores the truth of the 150

earlier experience. This is not a weakness in the poem, but rather the result of the speaker's recognition of two opposite apprehensions of the same state of being in love. Each is a self-contained, valid experience, the contrari­ ness of which affirms the puzzling quality of the love experience. Although I have described each attitude as being autonomous, it is nevertheless the case that the invocation of logic and reason in this second portion gives it more substance and significance. Indeed, the voice of logic is full of positivism which even allows the speaker to transcend death. The actual nature of this relation­ ship has not changed, but this new affirmation raises the speaker, phoenix-like, from the death he experienced earlier, and the suffering and negativity of the preceding have been cancelled out. JiQ Warnke states that the manner of this poem is a bit heavy-handed, as it dwells on its paradoxes. I contend that although the poem thrives on contradiction, the psy­ chical process succeeds, through logic, in transcending suffering, death, and logic itself, and, most important, the speaker overcomes himself. He defeats the Angst that rings out through the first six lines, and gains in a thirst for even more self-knowledge: ”. . ., du kannst mich leben lehren." (1. 8 ). In this manner the realism of

the dramatic suffering is opposed by the idealistic asser- 151 tions of the final four lines. This dialectic of the materialist, the troubled speaker, and the idealist, the unburdened voice, hence describes a poetic "I" reacting in two ways to the same condition, and also describes how this poetic "I" calms the turmoil of the poem. Warnke's assertion that Fleming dwells on his paradox instead of capping it, ignores the fact that the poetic voice succeeds in defeating considerable anxiety, and in constructing pos­ itive attitudes. In this sense, the "Doch" of line seven is more than a linguistic connector — as a turning point it is rather a courageous NEVERTHELESS, an assertion of will by which the speaker will come to establish a sense of dignity and new paradoxical inner calm. It is the hinge in a crucial transition in a poem that is by no means static. As final evidence of this shift in attitude, the open­ ing and closing paradoxes can be examined. These two couplets mirror the same state, the loss of identity. The speaker's initial attitude toward this condition is help­ lessness and confusion as phrased in the words: "irren", "sich suchen", and "nicht wissen". The paradox of the concluding two verses essentially reiterates the idea: ". . . dass ich ganz war in dir" (1 . 2 ), but it utters this without the confusion and distress of the poem's opening. The recognition of the first paradox led the speaker 152 through the torture of his mental drama. In contrast, lines seven and eight affirm the positive value of the paradoxical situation, and the conclusion embraces the truth of the original premise. These paradoxes are more than identical ingenious devices, and the entire poem becomes an oblique expression of the speaker's love as his complaint is transformed into a positive declaration.

********************

The introduction states that this study would accommo­ date much of the critical image of Fleming, the Erlebnis- dichter. Pyritz' determination of the role of personal 2lq experience in Fleming is a valid finding. ^ In fact, it can be demonstrated that a single experience of love, the loss of one's identity in the b e l o v e d , is applicable to seven of the eight poems considered. This common denomi­ nator of experience can be extracted to a few lines from each poem: Pein der Llebe: Seit dass ich nicht mehr meine bin, so ist mein ganzes Gliick hin. (11. 17"l8) Entsaguns: Sie darf sich darum nicht erheben, dass sie mich hat gegeben hin. (1 1 . 5*"6 ) An Basllenen: Du in mir und ich in dir sind beisammen fiir und fiir. (1 1 . 5"6 ) 153

Treue Pflicht: Sie hat mich ganz bei sich, das schbne Kind (11. 36-37) Zur Zeit seiner Verstossung: Nun bin ich ohne sie, nun bin ich ohne mich. (1, 14) tiber seinen Traum; Ach, Schwester, fiihlst du nicht, dass du zwo Seelen hast? (1, 20) Auf' ihr Abwesen: Ich irrte hin und her und suchte mich in mir, und wuste dieses nicht, dass ich ganz war in dir. (1 1 . 1-2 ) However, the analyses of major features have shown that these poems range deeply into the mind, rather than being mere subjective statements. Although the loss of self is the prime poetic mover in each case, Pyritz1 assertion that this experience is at the imaginative core of these poems is not wholly true. Instead, the poems internalize and intellectualize this experience, and then analyze the residual idea thoroughly. For the sake of contrast we include an excerpt from an earlier Fleming poem written in 1631, which also deals with the theme of the loss of the self in love. In this ode, which imitates a neo-Latin model by Daniel Heinsius, thematic development has nothing of the intellectually perceived emotion which characterizes the works evaluated in this chapter. Instead, it is a facile application of a standard poetic convention. 154

Mein Lieb das gabe mir, als sie mich gestem liebte. ein siisses Kiisselein ...... Ach, sprach ich, kans geschehen dass du, mein Leben, kanst mir Armen giinstig sein? Worauf sie lachend was von ihrem schbnen Munde aus tiefster Seelen raus, weiss noch nicht, was er war, mir blies in meinen Mund. Sie bliese mehr zur Stunde, noch etwas, weiss nicht was, das feucht und laulecht gar. So bald ich dieses nur befund’ in meinem Herzen, beraubt’ es mich der Seel* und aller Sinnen Kraft. Daher ich, ohne Seel* und ohne mich, mit Schmerzen lauf' immer hin und her in einer frembden Haft. Ach Lieb, ich suche mich mit Weinen aller Enden! Ach! ach! verk&ufstu denn so teuer einen Kuss? Ach! freilich tustu mir die Seel’ und Herz entwenden, nun ich in deiner Seel1 und Herzen leben muss. Ach! wein' ich Oder nicht? Was soli ich doch beginnen? (pp. 208-09, 1“2 1 ) When compared to the meditative exercises discussed in this study, such a poetic rendering of the same theme is imper­ sonal, superficial, and even mawkish. Pyritz recognizes in Fleming’s mature works the fac­ tors of feeling and confession which intimate a shimmer of modern subjectivity. Yet, such a description ignores the fact that ideas and not experience are central to all these poems; indeed, according to Gillespie the 155 biographical moment is merely the departure point for the explorations in these odes and sonnets.51 a poem as the document of unique and private expression is perhaps a prejudice of the modern sensibility which endorses the principles of post-Romantic "sentimentality11. In contrast to this "Romantic" process which induces and evaluates emotion, we find that Fleming's work is actually often sparse in self-indulgent emotion; instead, many of the poems reflect on that category of experience which was extracted above, and seek to replace passion with inner equilibrium. The poems are more concerned with analyzing, and constructing a solution to this predicament, rather than directly expressing the experiences; indeed, the overall poetic effect is that these works are individual analyses and constructions rather than individual expressions, and when the poems aren't seeking solutions, they are at least speculating. In the Paracelsian matrix Fleming perceived a kind of spiritual imperative and a union in the world outside. In all of these poems, however, he describes an inner world which is splintered and at odds with itself. In the Fara- celsian examples cited in the preceding chapter, the cosmic union of lovers was an idea essentially detached from Fleming’s experience, and as such it could be dealt with 156 objectively. Here, however, reality impells Fleming to test the truth of these ideas of correspondences, and he finds that such an evaluation fractures any sense of unity. It is Fleming's attempt, then, to measure and master this experience that often forces him to resort to figures of paradox, for, according to Colie, paradox alone meets the formal mimetic requirements of the poetic attempt to imi­ tate contradictory reality.^ In terms of the final insights gained by the persona, we find that the pursuit of unity as envisioned in the Paracelsian spiritual reality, is usually thwarted by a hostile material reality. In fact, only one poem, An Basilenen, does not stress the speaker's fragmentation, and is instead informed by the paradoxical mingling of souls, in which the poetic "I" portrays a union in a spiritual reality. Each of the other poems describes a speaker who cannot pattern all the contradictory evidence laid before him into a meaningful scheme, and who cannot still the dis­ cordant voices within him. At best, the mind courageously asserts itself in the face of this contrariness, or it can effect an aesthetic harmony as noted in Treue Pflicht. or it can embrace paradox as in Auf ihr Abwesen. It is this pursuit of unity in the experience, not the experience as

such, which is the poem's subject. 157

Pyritz also recognizes that Fleming has a strong tendency toward balance and synthesis.53 He adds that this is the key attitude which helped Fleming overcome Petrarchan convention, and which is especially evident in the Treue odes of the poet's later period. ^ That the poet seeks fidelity and reciprocal love is indisputable. Yet it is also true that the poet, in the psychological and meta­ physical constructions which have been examined, is very much aware of a devastating solitariness. These poems do not reach out for the loved one as the Treue odes that Pyritz mentions. Instead, in these poems the speaker is usually much more concerned with himself — most du pro­ nouns do not address the beloved, but refer back to the speaker. It is true that the poet seeks a sense of Treue in some of these later poems, but many others are pre­ occupied with the experience of contrariness that almost excludes the possibility of reconciling the "Many" into the "One". All of these mental operations which vigorously engage the contradictory experience extracted earlier, but which usually flounder in confusion and scepticism, are the truly nonconventional love poems of Paul Fleming. Their pursuit of psychological and metaphysical solutions marks their unique "eigene £njTon": the tone of a poetic sensibility

that is not perpetuated in the following century by Gttnther, Klopstock and Goethe, poets in whom Erlebnis and lyric statement are connected in terms of cause and effect As a final comment on the peculiar relation between experi ence and poem in Fleming's work we cite C. S. Lewis' description of John Donne: " {the poet] shows us amazing shadows cast by love upon the intellect, the passions, and the'appetite."55 NOTES

Stephan Tropsch, Flemings Verh<nls zur rtimlschen Dichtung (Graz, 1895); Hans Pyritz, Paul Flemings Liebeslvrik (Gottingen, 1963)* 2 Johannes Klein, Geschichte der deutschen Lyrik von Luther bis zum Ausgang des zweiten Weltkrieges, 2nd. ed. (Wiesbaden, I960); Richard Newald, Geschichte der deutschen Literatur, 4th. ed., Vol. V (Munich, i960).

3 Manfred Beller, "Thema, Konvention und Sprache der mythologischen Ausdrucksformen in Paul Flemings Gedichten11, Arcadia, V (1970), pp. 157“l80; Volker Klotz, "Spiegel und Echo, Konvention und Individualit&t im Barock" in Festschrift fiir G&nther Weydt (Munich, 1972), pp. 93“H9»

^ Pyritz, op. cit.

5 Pyritz, p. 303*

^ Pyritz, p. 308,

^ Pyritz, p. 310.

8 Pyritz, pp. 3 H “312.

^ Pyritz, p. 318.

10 Pyritz, p. 309s cautions further against trying to penetrate too deeply with our modem poetic biases in de­ scribing Fleming’s enterprises as Erlebnisdichtung: Den Erlebnisgehalt im Werke eines Dichters des 17. Jahrhunderts festzustellen, ist immer ein schwieriges und gef&hrliches Beginnen, auch wenn man die Grundfrage, wie weit die seelische Struktur der Menschen friiherer Zeiten der unsrigen iiberhaupt kommensurable sei, in positivera Sinn

159 160

beantwortet - wie man ja muss, um nicht die Mttglichkeit historischer Forschung schlechthin zu annullieren. Wir sind gegeniiber den Schdpfungen der neueren Literatur seit Goethe gewohnt und berechtigt, die Genesis eines dichterischen Werkes als einen Prozess der Wechselwirkung zwischen subjektivem Erlebnis und objektiver Form zu begreifen; und wir sind meistens in der Lage, diese Korrelation mit Hilfe biographischer Quellen zu verfolgen und klarzulegen. Solche schbne Sicherheit schwindet rasch, sobald wir an ein Kunstwerk frtiherer Zeit herantreten, fiir das ganz andere Schaffensbedingungen wirksam waren, an das der Massstab sch6pferischer Eigenleistung nur unter vielfachen Einschr&nkungen anzulegen ist. 11 Pyritz' qualified conclusion, p. 317* about this "eigene Cn| Ton" is: Der Mensch gehttrt sich noch nicht vBllig selbstj seine seelischen Grundkr&fte sind noch abgeschnitten von den Aussenbezirken der Pers6nlichkeit. Dementsprechend kann "dich- terisch" von einer organischen Entfaltung der individuellen Bewegung im "Ganzen'' des Kunstwerks sehr selten nur die Rede sein; daher mag unmittelbarer Ausdruck der reinen Empfindung wohl gelingen, w&hrend im Exterieur der Ausfiihrung und Darlegung die Konvention das Feld behauptet oder zum mindesten sich noch immer bemerkbar macht.

12 Robert Ambacher, Paul Fleming and "Erlebnisdichtung" (diss. Rutgers, 1972); Eva Durrenfeld, Paul Fleming und Johann_____ Christian Giinther: Motive, Themen. Formen (diss. Tubingen, 19^3)•

^ Ambacher, p. 179• lii Frank J. Warnke. European Metaphysical Poetry (New Haven, I96I). ; 161

^5 see Werner Milch, "Chronik: Deutsche Barocklyrik und ’metaphysical poetry;1", Trivium. V (1947), pp. 67-7 2 . Milch suggests that although scholarship labels the literary climates of seventeenth century England and Germany as being respectively "metaphysical" or "baroque", there are stylistic and thematic analogies between the two literatures. This study has benefited from such a non­ exclusive attitude toward the application of either critical concept.

^ Warnke, pp. 9~10.

Warnke, pp. 46-47.

Warnke, p. 8 .

•*•9 see James Smith, "On Metaphysical Poetry", Scrutiny. II (Dec. 1933)a pp. 222-39. My study is also indebted to Smith's delineation of metaphysical concerns in poetry.

20 Paul Flemings Deutsche Gedichte. ed. J. M. Lappen- berg (Darmstadt, 1965)• All citations of entire poems or single lines will refer to this edition, and will be indi­ cated in my text by page and line number.

21 Pyritz, p. 190.

22 Pyritz, p. 192.

23 Diirrenfeld, op. cit., p. 56, describes the general thrust of this poem to be: "Die Sehnsucht nach innerer Ruhe und Gelassenheit. . . .", and states that Fleming's goal is: "Seelischer Gleichmut durch Weisheit und Selbst- erkenntnis. ..." I contend rather that the poem is a heated inner monologue that intrepidly tries to understand. It is a desire for clarity rather than a preformed state­ ment that demands stoic detachment and calm. oh. Gerald Gillespie, German Baroque Poetry (New York, 1971), p. 76.

I 162

^ This phrase is.borrowed from Louis L. Martz, The Poetry of Meditation (New Haven, 1954)> P« 130* Its con­ text is Martz5 attempt to define the sensibilities of the English metaphysical poets. Additional help in describing many of Fleming's poems in this chapter is the following characterization of Andrew Marvell’s writings by T. S. Eliot: "a constant inspection and criticism of experience." The Eliot citation is found in "Andrew Marvell" in Selected Essays (New York, 1932), p. 262.

^ Emil Sattler, David Schirmer: Metaphysical Poetry, in the German Baroque (diss/ Ann Arbor, 1972), pp. 15“52. In evaluating Schirmer's poetry Sattler describes in detail the intellectual and the decorative possibilities of meta­ phorical language in the German Baroque. Many of his findings concerning the intellectual function of metaphor are also applicable to Fleming's imagery.

Gero von Wilpert, Sachwbrterbuch der Literatur. 3rd. ed. (Stuttgart, 1961), p. 563.

28 In this poem mutability argues against the possi- bility of love, whereas in the ode which follows in the Lappenberg edition, Die verletzte Charitinne (pp. 410-13)5 this same idea of Wechsel argues for a persistence in love (11. 73“84). Hence, the same idea, the same truth* is modulated to argue two different poetic postures. To recognize such shifting helps one Judge these poems as individual constructions that are reflective in seriously attempting to cope with basic problems in various ways.

2^ Hugo Bekker, Andreas Gryphius: Poet between Epochs (Bern, 1973)* P- 27. The first three chapters of this monograph discover and describe a metaphysical quality in Gryphius1 poetry. My study is particularly indebted to these, perceptions on Gryphius as a metaphysical poet.

^ Deutsche Lyrlk des Mittelalters. ed. Max Wehrli (Ziirich, 1955)7 p. 34. Gi 1 iespie, op/~~cit., p. 77 5 is credited for suggesting Du bist min as another poetic illustration of this bond.

Yet another poem in which Fleming concludes with a baffling paradox that also strains the connotative range of language is Sehnsucht nach El.sgen, (pp. 432-33)" The critical situation which caps this poem is: 163

Naturlich ists, dass stetigs Klagen uns endlich alle macht. Ich werd1 erqulckt durch ewigs Plagen und will sein umgebracht. Lass seh’n ob ich durch Freude denn kan sterben, dieweil kein Leid mich doch kan verderben. (1 1 . 31-36)

32 Pyritz, p. 229.

33 See Rosalie L. Colie, Paradoxia Epldemica. The Renaissance Tradition of Paradox (Princeton, 19bb), p.111. This is a handbook for the understanding of the figure of paradox in all literatures.

Colie, p. 519.

33 Fritz Strich, "Der lyrische Stil des siebzehnten Jahrhunderts", Abhandlungen zur deutschen Literaturges- chichte: Festschrift Franz Muncker (Munich. 1916), pp. 21-53.

36 Strich, p. 29.

3^ Strich, p. 30.

3® Warnke,, p. 11, cites 0. DeMourgues, Metaphysical, Baroque and Precieux Poetry (Oxford, 1953)* p.’~Y4". DeMourgues, says Warnke, finds the essential difference between Metaphysical and Baroque styles to be the differ­ ence between balance and distortion: "In metaphysical poetry we judge a poem by the art with which the poet achieves the reconciliation of clashing opposites. In baroque poetry we shall judge a poem by the art with which the poet expresses the experiences of a sensibility determined to go, unchecked, to the bitter end of its reactions to the problems of the age."

39 Deutsche Dlchtung des Mittelalters, ed. Friedrich v . der Leyen (Frankfurt, 1952), p. 245.

Pyritz, p. 283.

^ Ambacher, p. 136. 164

See Sattler, pp. 58-78, for a discussion of "metaphysical metaphors". Sattler’s investigations were helpful in formulating my own view of imagery which has a distinctly intellectual function.

43 Gerhard Fricke, Die Bildllchkeit in der Dichtung des Andreas Gryphius (Darmstadt, 1967), p. 48. Mi Fricke, pp. 1-32.

^ ’Fricke, p. 28.

For further delineation of these two types of imagery see Manfred Windfuhr's discussion of Scharfsinnige Metaphorik in Die Barocke Bildlichkeit und ihre Kritiker (Stuttgart, 1966), pp. 261-86. Also see Rosemond Tuve, Elizabethan and Metaphysical Imagery (Chicago, 1947)* PP* 79”109* Tuve distinguishes seventeenth century images on the basis of their "sensuous vividness" or "extra- sensuous functions". hr? 1 Walter Naumann, Traum und Tradition in der deutschen Lyrik (Stuttgart, 1966), p. 78.

Warnke, p. 46.

^9 pyritz, pp. 308-1 8 .

5° According to Warnke, p. 46, it is this loss of identity which moves Fleming to metaphysical manners of expression. This study has corroborated and expanded this view.

Gillespie, p. 82.

52 Colie, p. 129.

53 Pyritz, p. 315.

^ Pyritz, p. 316.

55 c. S. Lewis, "Donne and Love Poetry in the Seven- 165 teenth Century” In Seventeenth Century English Poetry» ed. William R. Keast (New York, 1962), p. 107. CHAPTER III

FLEMING AND THE LUTHERAN TRADITION

To my knowledge no full study of Fleming*s religious poetry exists. Indeed, his religious lyrics frequently receive 'little more than passing mention in literary criticism.1 This neglect is perhaps explained "by the fact that Fleming produced less than fifty religious lyrics, which, when compared to his enormous and significant output of love poetry, do not match the cast of Fleming as the key Baroque figure who successfully blended traditional and individual elements in his art — or at least they do not readily enlarge this image of Fleming as an inventive poet. Rather than demonstrate the poet's growing awareness of self as is discovered in his secular lyrics, the religious poems are much less individualistic and seem to mirror only unchanging Lutheran traditions and dogma. Ambacher, for example, discovers little in these poems besides a total embrace of Lutheran orthodoxy. What Fleming has declared in his ’Geistliche Lieder' is exactly identical to Luther's theology as it is concerned with God's plan of salvation.^ Wentzlaff-Eggebert reaches a similar conclusion.

166 167

So wie Fleming alle StrBmungen und Stoffgebiete seines wie des vorigen Jahrhunderte in sich aufgenommen und reflektiert hatte, so tut er eg auch mit der Glaubenslehre Luthers.3 Such findings are based on ample evidence; indeed, this Lutheran framework and substance is so consistent that one critic, Cysarz, categorically describes Fleming as "den sonnigsten Lutherspross” It is true that Fleming's back­ ground — he is the son of a Lutheran clergyman and an ardent supporter of Protestantism^ — penetrates, informs, and in a sense controls his religious poems. In almost every lyric the reader can deduce elements of Protestant dogma, or recognize biblical data as interpreted from a Lutheran perspective. Also, Fleming's basic images and topoi are often distinctly Protestant, for it must be re­ membered that besides being a spiritual force, Protestant­ ism also constituted a literary and intellectual tradition. Hence, Cysarz1 description is not perfunctory. Yet to afix such a label may belie the actual poetic range to be dis­ covered in the religious lyrics of this Lutheran epigone. Therefore, this introduction shall first enlarge the mean­ ing of Cysarz' statement on Fleming as an heir to the Lutheran tradition. My generalization on the poet's rela­ tionship to this particular heritage will then be qualified in order to demonstrate that literary criticism has over­ simplified the image of Fleming as a religious poet, and 168 that the concerns of critics have stopped short of a full understanding of Fleming's place in this tradition. Fleming's lyrics are by no means the only seventeenth century writings to crystallize around a Lutheran center. It is the view of many scholars that the only Baroque re­ ligious poetry possible, besides that found in mysticism and Catholicism, was that which related to Protestantism in a strict orthodox sense. It is patently obvious that Lutheran Gemeindeges ang has sixteenth century roots, yet even more personal devotions and meditations in the German Baroque are pressed in traditional molds of faith. The following survey of excerpts from various studies of seventeenth century religious poetry is illuminating in its uniform viewpoint on this matter of the all-embracing Lutheran tradition. The first passages are from Paul £ Bttckraann's Formgeschichte der deutschen Dichtung.D and comment on the role of orthodox faith in all religious poetic enterprises of this period.

£e s ] erweist sich, dass die Beziehungen dieser neuen Literatur-epoche zu den Bemiihnngen des Reformationszeitalters sehr eng bleiben und dass das damalige Dichten sich eher noch aus der durch Luther bewirkten Situation verstehen l&sst, als aus dem Vorausblick auf eine kommende Entwicklung. Die literarische Formensprache des siebzehnten Jahrhunderts bleibt trotz aller werbenden Anteilnahme an der griechisch-riSmischen liberlieferung noch sehr weit entfernt von der in sich ruhenden Diesseitigkeit eines 169

gestalthaften Menschtums und brlngt statt dessen ein rhetorisches Pathos zur Geltung, das den Gegensatz von irdischer HinfSlligkeit und gilttlicher Allgewalt umkreist und den erltfs- ungsbedtirftigen Menschen auf das Hell der Offenbarung verweist.7 Das Innere enthiillt sich nur in bezug auf die Bibel.o In addition to concluding that the poetic word adheres to the revealed Word, Beckmann elsewhere indicates that poetry assumes a specific role in regards to Revelation. Kirche, Orthodoxie und erbauliches Seelentum sind damals noch nicht auseinandergetreten wie sp&ter, vor allera seit und durch den Pietismus. In welcher Weise kommt nun von dieser Erbauungsliteratur aus das seelische Leben zur Aussprache? Ganz wie bei Luther geht es darum, dass der Glaube in den innern Grund des Herzens hinein- wirkt und alles Sgrechen dazu hilft, ihn zu entfachen.9 The following excerpts are from Max’s study of Opitz* religious poetry.10 Max also recognizes the communal and conventional quality in seventeenth century religious lyrics, and, as Beckmann, traces its conformity to its Lutheran origins. Pfarrhaus, Schule und Gelehrtenkatheder des 16. Jahrhunderts werfen ihre durren Schatten auch ins 17. hinfiber. Doch gerade die geistliche Dichtung ist noch das Beste, was dieses Jahrhundert hervorgebracht hat, wenn es auch nur der vereinzelte Wiederschlag eines Seelenlebens, der Ausbruch einer Stiramung, oder eines echten FrdJmmigkeitsgeftlhls ist. Im Allgemeinen fehlt der persflnliche, 170

verpflichtende starke Ton und Akzent. Wenn wlr nun dazunehmen, dass dieses Jahrhundert von einem einzigen Gelst — von dem Opitzens, der bei weitem nlcht der st&rkste, aber der gewandteste und der verst&ndigste war — diktatorisch beherrscht wurde, so dilrfte klar sein, was hier auf dem Geblete geistlicher Poesie zu erwarten 1st, wenn auch seine Theorie so verheissungsvoll lautet: £aus Buch von der deutschen Poeterei., Kap. 2J ’Die Poesie ist anfangs nichts anderes gewesen als eine verborgene Theologie und Unterricht von gtittlichen Sachen.1 ’Theologie', das ist das Erbe der Reformation, 'Unterricht' ist der Humanismus des 17. Jahrhunderts. Aus diesen beiden Bildungswelten lebte noch die geistliche Dichtung dieser Zeit. Die reinste Quelle der Reformation war die Bibel, die durch Luther neu geschenkt n war, die des Humanismus die antiken Autoren.11 Religious poetry in Opitz' case, as well as many others, is a matter of theological instruction, and there seem to be very few poetic options. Max continues: Die Quellen der geistlichen Schriftstellerei ■und Reimerei der Opitzzeit sind die Bibel, die Kirchenv&ter und die zahllosen, erbaulichen, poetisierenden Handbiicher. Die Abh&ngigkeit von diesen Quellen ist raeist eine sehr enge. Oft ist lediglich die Form ver&ndert, bfter noch ist die einzige Selbst&ndigkeit des Dichters ein breites Ausmalen der Vorlage oder eine gereimte Auslegung und Erklarung derselben.12 A final reinforcement of this viewpoint is this passage from Giinther Miiller,^ who also establishes Lutheranism as the single great antecedent to Baroque religious expression. 171

[Es] zelgt sich, dass die Entwicklungsweise des religitisen Liedes ira 17. Jahrhundert von der des weltlichen in einigen Grundzilgen sich deutlich unterscheidet. Es handelt sich dabei einmal um die geschichtlichen Voraussetzungen. Das weltliche Kunstlied hat eine Vergangenheit, die nicht iiber Opitz zuriickreicht. . . . Das protestantische Kirchenlied ist dagegen ein Jahrhundert <er; sein 'Klassiker1 ist Luther, und die von ihm und seiner Genera­ tion gehandhabten Formen und Formeln bilden trotz aller Abschleifungen den Grundstock der Kirchenlieddichtung bis in das 18. Jahrhundert hinein. Schein, Kiel, Meyfart, Alardus, Rinckart, Peck, Lilius, Heinsius, Schirmer, Christ. Rungen, Joach. Pauli, Rist, die Niimberger, die Rudolst&dter Gr&finnen, Denicke, Stieler, und noch Benj. Schmolck haben diesen dauerhaften Typ abgewandelt, und nur wenige protestantische Kirchenlieddichter sind von ihm ganz unab- h&ngig, denn auch das ausgesprochen ^ pietistische Lied geht von ihm aus.1^ I concur with the view shared by the critics quoted above. At this point, however, I must stress that this viewpoint in no way entails a negative value judgement, for it is simply a thesis that must be remembered before one proceeds to any serious consideration of religious lyrics in the Baroque period. A thesis that includes Fleming as well, because his aesthetic energy and religious impulses are also curbed and shaped by the forms and channels of the Protestant heritage. In the spirit of this survey of opinion I can now justify and enlarge Cysarz's comment that Fleming was another Lutheran epigone. To corroborate these

claims, it will be the endeavor of the following pages to 172 show just how thoroughly, and in what varied forms Fleming accommodated these extra-aesthetic claims. It now remains to qualify the above generalizations by adding an additional perspective for consideration in the discussions of this chapter. Recent Gryphius1 scholar­ ship, ^ for example, has demonstrated that although his work is markedly Protestant in the sense outlined above, Gryphius nevertheless retains some autonomy as he shapes his inherited poetic material. One of these studies, that of Marvin Schindler, concludes that Gryphius often trans­ forms biblical material — the very substance of Lutheran­ ism — into new constellations of meaning in his poetry; new meanings which are as much Gryphius1 as they are Luther's. In the same vein Hans-Henrik Krummacher1s findings indicate that in Gryphius1 Sonn - und Feiertage - Sonette the poet absorbed and reshaped the content and structure of some of Johann Arndt1s traditionally Lutheran prayers and devotions as found in Arndt's Paradis s-G&rtlein. This is not to assert that such a reworking of inherited themes and materi­ als constitutes a secularizing process, but rather to indicate that a seventeenth century religious poet such as Fleming can stand firmly in the Lutheran tradition, and yet be innovative — however slightly — in dealing with Chris­ tian forms and experiences. Therefore, in addition to demonstrating how truly Lutheran Fleming's religious poems 173 are, the following discussions will also attempt to prove that despite these strong ties to a religious heritage, Fleming also displays subtle individualistic tendencies. The final concern of the serious student of Fleming's religious poems is not the fact that the poet was a Lutheran — such an insight is gained from a cursory perus­ al of any Fleming edition — but how the poet manifests that heritage. Precisely because there are no comprehensive studies on Fleming's religious poetry, this chapter will survey Fleming's relationship to the Lutheran tradition. For the most part his poems are derivative, and easily adhere to the norms established in that tradition. Some even sink to the level of poetic commonplaces full of wooden thought and images which are not achieved poetically. Yet in cer­ tain other cases it can be demonstrated that Protestant resources appear in a new composite, and in yet other instances his poems constitute private and intellectual undertakings. Throughout, the final orientation point remains the poet's firmly anchored faith, but it will become clear that within this context this "sonnigste Lutherspross" wrote quite different poems which range from harsh didacticism, detached intellectual presentation of dogma, heart-felt devotional experiences, and inward directed meditation. Among the aims of the previous chap- 174 ters was the description of Fleming's relationship to two

# other traditions, those of Paracelsus and Petrarch. The same question, then, is posed anew: in what manner and measure does Fleming approach, absorb, and alter a particu­ lar tradition? In the Lappenberg edition used in this study Fleming's religious poems are grouped under the general category Von Geistlichen Sachen. To better organize the discussions, of this chapter I propose three sub-categories: first, those poems, primarily Fleming's Psalter, which serve a didactic purpose; second, those lyrics which hinge upon biblical and doctrinal subject matter; third, meditative and contem­ plative sonnets. This chapter will not consider those Fleming poems such as An Sich, Lass dich nur Nichts tauren. etc., which are best known for their Christian Stoicism. Although these poems are included in the editor's category Von Geistlichen Sachen. I feel that they are so influenced by the non-Lutheran philosophical concern of Fleming's time that they do not fit in the framework of this chapter's intentions. I. Fleming's Psalter The Psalms are best characterized as biblical lyric expressions, in which the speaker, whether he is conceived as an "I" or a "we", communes with God in a variety of moods. These emotions range from despair to exaltation, 175 and register the speaker's fears, lamentations, doubts, and questioning. However much the speaker may falter, the prevailing attitude is nevertheless that through faith and trust in God’s mercy, the speaker will prosper and ulti­ mately be redeemed. Luther, who was continuously beset by Anfechtungen, stressed the Psalter precisely because it is such a record of unending spiritual struggle. Indeed, as Roland Bainton points out,1^ Luther had so lived his way into these lyric expressions of faith that he was able to improve them by simplification and clarification, and yet sustain their basic appeal. In his forward to the Psalms Luther describes them as "eine kleine Bibel", and as a young monk he delivered in the years 1513 to 1516 a series of lectures on the Psalms, for he felt them to contain the quintessence of the Christian experience. As the record of the trials in his heart they retained their importance for Luther as personal devotions, yet their application in an exhortative communal sense was also readily apparent. Ultimately, from his paraphrasing and personalization of the Psalms Luther also extracted one of the major hymnal statements of Protestantism, Ein feste Burg, which is based

on the 46th Psalm. The Psalter remained a major religious inspiration for poets until the middle of the eighteenth century — Klop-

stock among others^ — after which its echoes in literature 176 began to fade. Yet its influence is by far strongest in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries during which one finds an abundance of versifications and paraphrasings of the Lutheran original. In the immediate generations after Luther they were most often transposed into song for usage as full-throated congregational hymns. In this first period they of course retained their significance as the cry of the soul to God, but most renderings chose to stress them communally and were basically imitative of each other. Psalmody itself became a tradition and took on epigonic qualities as Protestant habits of mind continually cast the Psalms in the same molds. This development is described by Giinther Miiller in the case of a single Psalm poet, Cornelius Becker: Cornelius Beckers' Psalter Davids Gesangweis. auf die In Lutherischen Kirchen gewbhnliche Melodeyen zugerichtet (1600) ist ein recht sinnfalliges Beispiel fiir den Epigonen- Charakter der Epoche. Das eigentliche Gewicht liegt in der Vollst&ndigkeit. For- male Neugestaltung ist, wie schon der Titel sagt, nicht angestrebt. Wenn dieser Psalter liedm&ssiger ist als der Lobwassersche, gegen den er sich mit bewusster Absicht richtet, so verdankt er das eben der epigonenhaften ausschliesslichen Verwendung hberkommener Formen und Motive. Geradezu grotesk wirkt es, wenn Becker den 6. Psalm im Ton 'Aus tiefer Not schrei ich„zu dir1 nach Luther noch einmal dichtet.1®

In the seventeenth century, however, the Psalter attracted the efforts of numerous poets who rendered this prime model 177 of the faithful hut struggling Christian specifically for reading. Merker and Stammler note^-9 nine major poetiza- tions of this biblical material, which range from the involved and artificial paraphrases of Weckherlin to the elegant but cold versifications of Opitz. In most of these cases one discovers little more than the repetition of bib­ lical narrative embellished by the formal trappings of poetry as pioneered by Opitz. Fleming's Psalms appeared in 1631, and it is clear that his interest in this material is in no way unique, but was shared by many of his contem­ poraries. It now remains to describe Fleming's Psalter and its poetic and substantive emphases. In Luther's Bible the Psalms are partly classified and subtitled according to theme or possible usage. One such classification, Busspaslmen. includes numbers 6, 32, 38* 51* 102, 130* 143. It is indicative of Fleming's poetic intent that he rendered just these seven Psalms and the confes- sional poem Das Gebet Manasse. 20 His purpose is clearly stated in this sonnet which prefaces the collection and dedicates it to Katharinen von Schtinburg: Was uns den Himrael sperrt, die Welt zu enge macht, die lasse Seele zw&ngt, den kranken Leib verzehret, was uns bei Freuden Lust, bei Lachen Lachen wehret, 178

den langen Tag entf&rbt, erschreckt bei Mittemacht, 5 was mit uns geht zu Kost, steht, sitzt, entschl&ft, erwacht, das erste lange Leid, das Eva auf uns kehret, und was das arge Fleisch noch t&gllch ilben lehret, auch wie wir armes Volk zu Rechte werden bracht: das klagt und lehrt diss Buch. Wenn ihr denn, Ruhmb der Frauen, 10 ' das gn&dige Gesicht1 in diese Schrift lasst schauen, so hoffet euch nur nicht der Wtirter schbnen ScheinI Denkt, Mutter, denkt viel mehr, dass keine btise Sache der angeschminkte Glanz der Reden besser mache! Der Richter siht hier nicht, was wir von aussen sein.21 The basic tone of the Psalms to follow is keyed by "das erste lange Leid" (1. 6), man's state of sin. They present a speaker as sinner who has diagnosed his affliction and complains to God for release from his misery and suffering: "das klagt . . . diss Buch ..." (1. 9)* This prefatory sonnet also states the program of this entire collection: . . . was das arge Fleisch noch t&glich iiben lehret, auch wie wir armes Volk zu Rechte werden bracht: das . . . lehrt diss Buch . . . (11. 7“9)» Fleming makes it clear that this will be a sententious presentation of the traditional Psalm material. Although he retains the Bible's first person "I" speaker throughout the Busspaalmen. this introduction stresses only the plural 179

"we" (11. 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 1*0- The poet thus removes the distance between his speaker and reader so that the didac­ tic quality might not be diffused. The reader is expected to be committed to the spiritual significance of the speaker's colloquy with God, and the reader must be de­ tached enough to realize that this sinner is addressing God for the edification of the audience. This creates a pecu­ liar poetic situation$ the soul within the Psalms trembles with fear and disgust at his state of sin, and his confes­ sions are to be construed as a role played for the sake of the faithful. The reader will of course identify with this role, which coincides with Fleming's plan that these works are to be taken as exhortations meant to improve one's own Christian conduct. The poet is not concerned with portray­ ing them as private lyric expressions, and if one is reminded of the generalizations in the introduction to this chapter, Ganz wie bei Luther geht es darum, dass der Glaube in den inneren Grund des Herzens hineinwirkt und alles Sprechen dazu hilft, ihn zu entfachen,22 and, Die Poesie ist . . . Unterricht von gflttlichen Sachen,23 then one recognizes that Fleming's didactic attitude is in concordance with the emphases of his time. In the message of this prefatory sonnet there is more 180 to discover about Fleming's relationship to the religious and poetic conventions of the seventeenth century. In lines 1 - 9 the sententious intent of Fleming's art is expressed. In the remainder of this sonnet Fleming address­ es Katharinen von Schbnburg with a minimum of complimentary pomp. Instead of an extended baroque tribute we find that he continues his instructions as to the proper usage of his artistic presentation of traditionally sacred material. He has enough of a poet's confidence to describe his ver­ sion as "sch8n" (1. 11) and "Glanz der Reden" (1. 13)* but he also seems uneasy about his infusion of verse, rhyme, and metaphor into the scriptural Word. He continues to admonish his reader to reap maximum benefit from this por­ trayal of the tribulations and restoration of a faithful Christian; these are "Buss-Psalmen" and the reader must remain focused on the biblical message, for all things are only understood in terms of man's ultimate relationship to God, the "Richter'’ of line 14. The reader of this study is again reminded of the generalizations made in the introduc­ tion to this chapter: Die literarische Fomensprache des siebzehnten Jahrhunderts . . . [verweist3 . . • den erlttsungsbediirftigen Menschen auf das Heil der Offenbarung. ^ Nothing, poeticizing included, should distort this message.

Fleming’s awareness of the clash of Christian sub­ stance and aesthetic vehicle brings to mind a major 181 theoretical problem of the German Baroque. This contro­ versy arose in the awareness that the new poetic forms prescribed in the manifestos of Opitz and other authorities have their roots in classical models and Renaissance inno­ vators. How can such poetry with markedly secular origins be reconciled with the almost hyperactive Christian beliefs of the Protestant Baroque? As Pascal points out^ this religious concern was genuine, and the objections of the Church to the secular practice of poetry were taken seri­ ously by writers and thinkers of the time. For example, Pascal indicates that aesthetic authorities who were seek­ ing justification for their poetic enterprises proclaimed with relief that biblical King David was also a poet, but even this connection never freed many of them from unease. Fleming’s sonnet shares this concern about the blend of Christian virtues and poetic elegance. Further documenta­ tion of these main issues of theoretical discussion now follows. The first passage is from Johann Gerhard (1582-1637)* whom Paul Biickmann describes as the most important Prot­ estant dogmatist and Erbauungsschriftsteller of this period. Gerhard subordinates all poetic activity to the principles of faith and didactic intent, and comments on the allowable

range of poetic enhancement: 182

Ist etwas nicht so geschickt getroffen Oder so gar zierlich ausgeredet worden, oder sind auch vielleicht Worte, so dem Glauben nicht durchaus gleichf&rmig mit untergelaufen, so wolle der giinstige Leser deswegen nicht so bald das Buchlein gar aus der Hand legen oder mich zerkezern, sondern bedenken, wovon darinnen gehandelt wird, nemlichen von geistlichen heiligen Sachen, welche die __ Zierlichkeiten im Heden nicht allwege leiden. ' Gerhard's concern that the religious content not be eclipsed by zierliches Reden is echoed in Fleming's introductory sonnet which insists that "... der Wtirter schiinen Schein" (1. 11) should not dilute the Psalms. However, many poets had a more flexible attitude than Gerhard and were able to justify their poetic renderings of scriptural material more easily. In the introduction to his Thr&nen tiber das Leiden Jesu Christi (1652) Gryphius comments on this theoretical controversy: Denn ich der Meynung gar nicht zugethan, die alle Blumen der Wolredenheit und Schmuck der Dichtkunst aus Gottes Kirche bannet, angesehen die Psalmen selbst nichts anders als Gedichte, derer etliche iibermassen hoch und mit den sch8nesten Arten zu reden die himmlischen Geheimnus ausdrucken.2° Gryphius is foremost a poet and is more tolerant than Gerhard in reconciling the demands of seventeenth century poetry and religion, and it is his opinion to which Fleming ultimately subscribes. Fleming is as concerned as both of these men that the religious tones be clear, but he also embraces the aesthetic grounds just as Gryphius does. By 183 so relating Fleming’s prefatory sonnet to the issues of his time, we see that his thought reflects the conventional concerns of his surroundings. On the one hand he is com­ mitted to Erbauung and is a Lutheran epigone, and on the other he is an advocate of elevated and ornamented presen­ tation, a purely Baroque concern. In both cases the poet's orientations are determined by extra-personal assumptions. The preceding discussion of the theoretical controversy to be deduced from Fleming's introduction requires expansion and illumination through an analysis of his versifications of the Psalms. In his preface Fleming stresses the hope that his poetizations would not detract from the original. Therefore, an analysis must undertake to describe the actual impact of Fleming's rhetorical means on the scriptural ma­ terial. It must be determined if the poet introduces any undesired tension between form and content, or if he added new meanings or directions. The best method to isolate Fleming's "input" is a one-to-one comparison of his versi­ fication to the original. Following, then, is the text of Fleming's 6th Psalm as well as the corresponding Lutheran original in the 15^5 edition. 1 Ein Psalm Davids, vor zu singen auff acht Seiten. 2 Ach Herr straffe mich nicht in deinem Zorn, Und zuechtige mich nicht In deinem grim. 184

3 Herr sey mir gnedig, denn ich bin schwach, heile mich Herr, Denn meine gebeine sind erschrocken. 4 Und meine Seele ist seer erschrocken, Ah du Herr, wie lange? 5 Wende dich Herr, und errette meine Seele, Hilff mir umb deiner Guete willen. 6 Denn im Tode gedenckt man dein nicht, Wer wil dir in der Helle dancken? 7 Ich bin so muede von seufftzen, Ich schwemme mein Bette die gantze nacht, Und netze mit meinen threnen mein Lager. '8 Meine Gestalt ist verfallen fur trawren, und ist alt worden, Denn ich allenthalben geengstet werde. 9 Weichet von mir alle Ubeltheter, Denn der Herr hoeret mein weinen. 10 Der Herr hoeret mein flehen, Mein gebet nimpt der Herr an. 11 Es muessen alle meine Peinde zu schanden werden, und seer erschrecken, Sich zu rueckkeren, und zu schanden werden ploetz- lich.29

Der VI. Psalm 1 Ein Psalm Davids, vorzusingen auf acht Saiten. 2 Ach schone, grosser Herr, ach schone mich zu strafen. wenn deine Huld und Gunst bei dir ist ganz entschlafen, und du fdr Zorne brennst! Herr, zMchtige mich nicht, wenn dir die Grimmesglut aus Mund und Augen bricht, 5 3 die niemand tragen kan! Umb so viel mehr lass blicken dein Gnadengesicht, indem mich unterdrticken viel tausent Schmerz und Angst I Herr, heile, heile mich, 4 weil ich voll Schwachheit bin! 0 Arzt, erweise dich! Die Seele zittert mir. Ach Herr, ach Herr, wie lange? 10 Das Mark verschwindet aus, das Reissen macht mir bange, 5 das meine Beine kreischet. Herr, wende dich einmal, und hilf mir, so du wilst, aus dieser Seelenqual! 185

6 Wer wird dir, wenn du mich nun wirst getdtet haben, ftir deine Hiilf’ und Treu' erlegen solche Gaben, 15 wie ich bissher getan? wer wil dir danken doch und denken deiner Ehr1 in jenem finstern Loch, 7 in welches du mich wirfst? Das herzenswehe Seufzen macht mich so lass und matt, dass ich auch kaum kan geufzen. Der Angstschweiss schwemmet mir durch die ganze Nacht 20 8 mein mildes Lager aus. Das Qual der Thr&nen macht mein Bett* als eine Bach. Wo ist mein1 erste Blflte, da ich so schlne war, das freudige Gemilte? Die Augen dunkeln mich, die ausgefleischte Haut wird schlaff und runzelt sich, dass mir selbst filr mir graut. 25 Ich bin bei Leben tot. Man drlngt mich vorn und hinden. Hier Idert mich den Grimm, den ich durch meine Stinden geh&ufet hab1 auf mich, dort Ungstet mich ein Man (ach wir es Einer nur!), dem ich kein Leid getan. 9 Weg, ihr verruchtes Volk, ihr fjbelt&ter, weichetl 30 10 Mein Jammerseufzen hat die blaue Burg erreichet und ihren Prinz bewegt zu milssen gn&dig sein. Das Wetter ist vorbei, nun hab1 ich Sonnenschein; 11 mein Flehen ist erhdrt, ich habe Gott zum Freunde. Wie ist euch nun zu Mut, ihr schlangenarge Feinde? 35 Erschrecken mdsset ihr ftir meinem Gott und mir und pldtzlich kehren umb mit Schanden ftir und ftir. (pp. 3-4) Fleming’s actual technique of versification follows

Opitzian prescription;^ the meter is regularly iambic; the verse is alexandrine; there is no internal rhyme but only alternating masculine and feminine rhyme pairs; and the diction and syntax are relatively simple. In such simpli­ city and avoidance of aesthetic excess Fleming enhances 186 his material, yet in no way distracts from his topic. This low-key rendering is therefore in line .with the poet's intentions and admonitions as stated in his preface. To be noted is that each of Fleming's Psalms, as well as Das Gebet Manasse. is consistent in form, with absolutely no deviation from the above described pattern. The' structure of this lament — as is the case in all the others — matches the biblical original. Each time Fleming reproduces the scriptural structure composed of invocation, cry for help, statement of the speaker's suffer­ ing, and closing prayer. Also, Fleming essentially repro­ duces the original vocabulary and images and remains true to the linguistic resources at hand. In most verses Fleming's transposition into poetry is without deviations, yet there is a new quality to this poetization of Psalm 6 that is best described as dramatization. For example, Fleming's poetization of biblical verse 2 intensifies the tone of the original by adding the des­ perate hope that God's sense of mercy and favor have not been stilled (1. 2), and elaborates on the nature of divine ''Zorn" and "Grimm". In Fleming's version the deity is ablaze with anger, and all men wither before this searing rage that pours forth from the divine visage. The biblical meaning is intact — the godhead is angry — but Fleming's vivid intensification of God's wrath with the sinner has 187 increased the visual potential in this passage and ampli­ fied the speaker's invocation. There are many more such poetic liberties with the scriptural text. In line 8 Fleming adds the address . . 0 Arzt, erweise dichI" This is an intrusion, yet it does not constitute an innovative poetic addition, for it is in itself a biblical image (see Luke 4:23 for the idea of the Lord as a physician). Also, it does not dis­ rupt the original movement because it is integrated into the text as a natural reaction to the preceding lines which establish the speaker's spiritual malaise. Then, lines 17 - 28 amplify the speaker's suffering beyond that established in the original text. Biblical "threnen" (vs. 7) becomes Fleming's "herzenswehe Seufzen" (1. 17), which renders the speaker "lass und matt" (1. 1 8 ), and almost stifles him: "... dass ich kaum kan geufzen" (1. 1 8 ). Beading on, we realize that Fleming is concerned with creating a scene full of emotional and existential distress. The speaker's bed is soaked with "Angst-schweiss" (1. 19, italics added), and this agonizing vigil is repeated on many tear-filled nights (1. 19)j both of these ideas are Fleming's addition. Biblical verse 8 receives even more expansion. For example, in lines 20 - 21 Fleming adds the painful recollection of better days when the speaker's 188

"being was calm and refreshed; all of which vividly con­ trasts his present condition. Fleming's lines 23 “ 24 bring the speaker's reflection on his dimming vision and expand the gesture of the speaker's recoil in horror at his aging and withering. Then, in line 25 Fleming increases the pathos by adding "Ich bin bei Leben tot. . ."; this phraseology is again not intrusive in that it is not the poet's invention but yet another biblical commonplace (see Rom. 7: 24; II Cor. 1:9)* It too adds to the extreme nature of the speaker's situation. Biblical verse 8 contains the simple and direct state­ ment "Denn ich allenthaben geengstet werde". Fleming ex­ pands this same thought to express much more than merely the number of the speaker's oppressors: . . . Man dr&ngt mich vorn und hinden. Hier &dert mich dein Grimm, den ich durch meine Siinden geh&ufet hab1 a,uf mich, dort &ngstet mich ein Man (ach w&r es Einer nur!), dem ich kein Leid getan. (11. 25"28) In these lines Fleming's speaker expands his cry of lament. He reaches back to the vivid description of an angry God

in verses 2 and 3t and incorporates this anxiety into his general distress. When this is added to his alarm in the face of numerous enemies -- whom he has in no way antago­ nized, Fleming adds — the speaker's mind reaches a panic

pitch. Here! . . .there.'. . ., wherever the speaker turns 189 he is beset, and his lines are not spoken but declaimed with dramatic intensity. In comparison to the biblical original one sees that Fleming has remained true to the content and course of his original material, but it Is also clear that the poet's design includes an intensifica­ tion that carries the reader through the speaker's anxious and tear-filled vigil, and brings him to the crescendo of fear attained in lines 21 through 28. As a contrast to Fleming's intentions, a glance at Opitz1 versification of this same scriptural passage (vss. 7a 8) indicates how the same material can stimulate an artistic imagination in various ways. Meine miide Seuffzer sagen/ Was der Mund nicht weiss zu klagen: Durch mein Bette nass gemacht: Meiner Augen heisse Zehren/ Die mir Ruh und Schlaff beschweren/ Quellen als ein Wasserfluss/ Dass mein Lager schwimmen muss. Von der Pein die ich empfunden/ Ist mein Antlitz abgeschwunden/ Ungedult macht die Gestalt Mir fiir meinen Jahren alt: Dann ich muss von alien Seiten Mit dem losen Hauffen streitten/ Der mir anthut Schmach und Spott/ Und mich &dert auff den Todt.31 Opitz' version is smooth and poetically perfect, but is monotone and almost unctious when compared to the modula­ tions of Fleming's. The lines above are most concerned with tears and painful longing and have a calm and pious 190 ground tone when compared to the shrieking distress in Fleming's speaker. Fleming recognizes the fear in the Psalm's original words and is determined to make it more tangible. Indeed, it is a felt terror that is hopefully induced in Fleming's reader by a very active and real speaker. For such reasons it is justifiable to describe Fleming's version as dramatic — almost theatrical — and to even label his speaker as a ,:dramatie personae". In line with this dramatic quality it is fitting, then, that in verse 10 Fleming should expand the biblical origi­ nal which reads: "Der Herr hoeret mein flehen, Mein gebet nimpt der Herr an." After the dramatic apex attained in verse 8, in which all of the threats afield converge on the speaker, Fleming provides in his version of verses 9 and 10 a reconciliation of these elements and a denouement to this drama. This denouement consists of a series of images which accurately state the content of the biblical original quoted directly above, but do so in a metaphorical fashion. This is another instance of the poet's addition of images to enhance the Psalm as a dramatic narrative, but which do not modify or detract from the original statement. Also, these images tend not to function as intruding imagi­ native conceptualizations, because as was noted in Fleming's

lines 8 and 25 their source is biblical and their implica­ tions are Christian (see Psalm 40 for reference to Christ 191 as a fortress; Eph. 2:2 and Rev. 1:5 for Christ as a prince Psalms 55a 83 for God's just anger likened to a storm* Math. 5:45 for sunshine as Christ's favors). Fleming's images in verse 10 thus hinge on the commonality in Chris­ tian experience* and his usage of them does not imply a secularizing distraction from the scriptural source. In­ stead they function as an expanded scene of relief or denouement after the rising tempo of the preceding verses. Their evocative power suggests new calm and spiritual relax­ ation for the speaker, and as such they enhance the move­ ment in this Psalm as drama, hut leave its narrative line intact. Before proceeding to any conclusions about the poet's input as he reshapes the resources of the Bible, it is nec­ essary to examine the remaining Psalms as well. The fol­ lowing discussions continue to compare the poetic and scriptural versions, but do so in an abbreviated manner; that is, only those points in the text which have been con­ siderably altered in the poeticizing process will be examined. Psalm 32: The first of the following passages is the 1545 Lutheran version of verses 3~5» The second text is Fleming's adaptation. 192

3 Denn da Ichs wolt verschweigen, verschmachten meine Gebeine, Durch mein teglich heulen. 4 Denn deine Hand war tag und nacht schweer auff mir, Das mein Saft vertrockete, wie es im sommer duerre wird, Sela. 5 Darumb bekenne ich dir meine Suende, und verhele meine missethat nicht, Ich sprach, Ich will dem Herrn meine Uebertrettung bekennen, Da vergabstu mir die missethat meiner suende, Sela, 3 Denn als ich meine Not auch dachte zu verschweigen, da wolte mir filr Angst der Beine Mark verseigen, Durch die Gewissensqual entgieng mir meine Kraft, 4 von deiner schweren Hand verlor ich alien Saft, Wie wenn zu Sommerszeit die durstigen Gefilder der grimme Hundsstern brennt, der Auen schflne Bilder, die Blumen werden welk und h&ngen unter sich, Herr, also stund es auch umb meinen Schmuck und mich. 5 Ich wil nur meine Schuld geradezu bekennen und deinen Geisel mich ganz unverholen nennen. Ich spreche: Sihe Herr, das ist der Sdnden Knecht! alsbald vergiebst du mir und machest mich gerecht, streichst jene Handschrift durch. (P. 5) In verse 4 Fleming expands the image of the penitent sinner who expresses his poor relationship with God, the source of all sustenance. The Bible employs a single simile which suggests an analogy to summer heat, whereas the poet devel­ ops the extended image of a blazing sun scorching the fields. To be noted is that the figure which Fleming expands is not original but found throughout scriptural figurative usages (see II Isaiah 40:6; Psalm 102). Another modification is found in Fleming’s choice of the present tense for the narrative of biblical verse Avoiding the preterite adds dramatic immediacy to the speaker's appeal 193 and removes God’s forgiveness as a forgone conclusion. In the following two passages the reader's attention Is directed to a close examination of verse 9» 8 Ich wil dich unterweisen, und dir den Weg zeigen, den du wandeln solt, Ich wil dich mit meinen Augen leiten. 9 Seid nicht wie Ross und Meuler, die nicht verstendig sind, Welchen man Zeum und Gebis mus ins Maul legen, wenn sie nicht zu dir wollen. 8 Herr, sprich zu mir: Korn her, ich wil dich unterweisen! hier ist der wahre Steg, hier kanstu zu mir reisen, und meinen Himmel an. Korn, richte dich nach mir! mein klares Augenliecht sol stets dir gehen ftlr 9 und eine Fackel sein. — Seid nicht so unverstfindig, wie G&ul' und Mauler sein, die eh' nicht werden b&ndig, als wenn ihr wildes Maul ein scharfer Zflgel zwingt, dass Ihnen Blut und Schaum durch beide Lefzen drlngt da werden sie erst zahm. (p. 5) The associative value in referring to stubborn beasts of burden is recognizable, but In Fleming's version, which seems bent on impact and visual immediacy, the poet is close to being too concerned with the literal objects called on for comparison. Psalm 38: In the first comparison from this Psalm Fleming's version stresses the mighty rage brought upon oneself through sin. Here, the poet is intent on expanding the image of the easily angered Old Testament God. 2 Herr straffe mich nicht in deinem zorn, Und zuechtige mich nicht in deinem grim. 194

2 Jehovah, straf mich nicht, wenn delnes Zorrens Flammen verzehren alle Gunst, gehn (lber mir zusammen! Wenn delnes Grlmmes Loh in vollem Sturme fShrt, die dieses alles auch in einem Nu verheert, dann ztfchtige mich nicht! (p. 6) In this second comparison Fleming chooses to highlight the physical suffering of the stricken speaker. 4 Es ist nichts gesundes an meinem Leibe fur deinem drewen, Und ist kein Friede in meinen Gebeinen fur meiner Suende. 4 Ftir deinem Dr&uen, Herr, ist nichts an mir gesund, dein’ Hand ist mir zu schwer, sie schl> mich krank und wund; mein Leib ist strimenvoll, ich habe keinen Friede, ich, wolgepla^ter Mensch, in irgends einem Gliede. Der schwere Sundenschmerz greift auch die Knochen an, der {ibermachte Schmerz, und wtttet was er kan. (p. 6) The poetic version keys into the biblical idea that there is no peace within the speaker, but adds the threatening activity contained in verbs like "angreifen" and "wilten". Fleming does not want that his reader simply "hear" the speaker's complaint, but that the reader also visualize this very real suffering in his mind's eye. Fleming’s version then increases this sense of danger by adding these three lines to the original biblical text: du, mein Gott, wirst ja nicht mich gar so lassen tiitenl (p. 7> 1.4l), . . . Herr, habe doch Geduld, und tiite mich nicht gar! . . . (p. 1, 11. 52-53)• Fleming's rendering of the speaker's cry of lament in this Psalm stresses suffering and the anticipation of worse to 195 come. To portray this agony and near-despair is in the vein of the original material, yet it is clear that the poet is especially interested in rendering the extremes of that situation. Psalm 102: This Psalm has a penetential tone, but also recounts God's glory and expresses confidence and trust in the Lord. Fleming's version is concerned with amplifying this praise and personal faith as is discovered in the following com­ parisons. 12 Meine tage sind dahin wie ein schatten, und ich verdorre wie Gras. 13 Du aber Herr bleibest ewiglich, und dein Gedechtnis fur und fur. 12 Mein ganzer Lebenslauf gleicht einem Schatten nur, der, wenn der Kdrper weicht, verl&sset keine Spur. Bei Zusehn schwind' ich ab, der Lenden Mark verrinnet, und ich dorr aus, wie Gras, das man am Warmen sonnet. 13 Was bin ich gegen dir, du starker Zebaoth? Du bleibest ewig Herr und ohne Wandel Gott, dich findert keine Zeit, du Herrscher aller Zeiten. Dein ist die Ewigkeit, du Prinz der Ewigkeiten. Wenn dieses Ganze denn die Glut wird Sschern ein, so wird doch fttr und filr noch dein Gedfichtnttss sein. (p. 10) Also see Fleming's version of verses 23, 26, and 28 which further extol the glory of the Infinite Being far beyond the scope of the scriptural original. In this Psalm the poet also addresses his reader for the first time. In verse 19 note the diamond image, Fleming's addition, which embellishes the original state­ ments, yet does not distract. 196

18 Er wendet sich zura gebet der verlassenen, Und verschmehet ir Gebet nicht. 19 Das werde geschrieben auff die Nachkommen, Und das Volck das geschaffen sol werden, wird den Herr loben. 18 Der Unterdrttckten Wundsch, das auserpresste Plehen h$rt er, lSsst keinen Man nicht hillflos von ihra gehen, der ihra nur trauen kan. Er wendet sich zu dir, verschm&ht nicht, was du ihm in deiner Not tragst fttr. 19 Das werd1 in ewige Demanten eingegraben, was wir ffir einen Gott an unserm Gotte habenj In' BiHcher miisse diss geschrieben werden ein, die keine Zeit befrisst, dass auch, die nach uns sein, das ungeborne Volk, den Herren loben mflgen und sich vor dessen Macht und Ehre willig schmiegen. (p. 10) Psalra 130: In these passages the speaker is distressed and waits for God to reveal His well-known compassionate attributes, 5 Ich harre des Herr, meine Seele harret, Und ich hoffe auff sein Wort, 6 Meine Seel wartet auff den Herrn, Von einer Morgenwache bis zur andern. 5 Ich harre meines Herrn, und meine Seele harrt. Der frische Saft und Kern, den sein Wort in sich hat, heisst so mich auf ihn hoffen. 6 Diss Wohnhaus meiner Seel’ halt1 ich dem Herren offen nicht an dem Tage nur. Wenn noch die dicke Nacht umb mein Gemach ist her und eh die Sonn1 erwacht, so denk ich schon an ihn und warte mit Verlangen auf ihn und seine Trost. (p. 12) The biblical version, "Von einer Morgenwache bis zur andern", tersely states that the speaker is always expec­ tant and hopeful, whereas Fleming’s verses are concerned with more than a measure of time. His poetization is richly suggestive with its idea of a gloomy night 197 enveloping the speaker*s room. The poetic "111 is isolated and unconsoled, and meditates on the promised relief that comes with the light of dawn which dissipates this gloom. This is an anxious vigil, the ,,Mitternacht,, which Fleming refers to in line 4 of the introductory sonnet to his Psalter, and is a trial with no solace possible except hope in the Divine Word: . , . Der frische Saft und Kern, den sein Wort in sich hat, heisst so mich auf ihn hoffen. (see above vs. 5) Fleming thus adds a rich, emotional complexity to the original statement without altering the biblical represen­ tation. 32 Psalm 143: In the following side-by-side comparison notice Fleming’s emphasis on the biblical idea that "kein Leben- diger" is truly just In God’s eyes. Fleming clearly states the essence of this message, yet adds the image of the scales of Divine Justice which never tip in our favor, and the assemblage of all men on a great plain, none of whom is free of sin. 2 Und gehe nicht ins Gerich mit deinem Knecht, Denn fur dir ist kein Lebendiger gerecht. 2 Doch filhr nicht ins Gerichte mich, deinen Siindiger. Was hSlt wol das Gewlchte fdr Unschuld deinem Satz? Und wenn die grosse Welt auf einen blachen Platz dir vor die Augen stellt' ihr ungezfihltes Volk, so wtird' in solchen alien 198

ja nicht auf einen nur dein rechtes Urteil fallen, dass er sei ohne Schuld. (p. 12) In the next justaposition of verse 3 the speaker de­ scribes the trials of the world. Fleming's version stresses the unnerving ordeal of being the constant prey of one's enemies, and his speaker begs for deliverance. There is a dramatic and active quality attained in the poetic version by the attention of motion verbs such as "verfolgen", "schweben", "verkriechen", "ereilen", and "werfen". As in many previous Psalms the poet aims for immediacy, action, and intensity. 3 Denn der Feind verfolget meine Seele, und zuschlehet mein Leben zu boden, Er legt mich ins finster, wie die Todten in der Welt.

3 Diss bitt' ich nur alien. dass ich des Feindes Spiel so gar nicht miJge sein. Denn er verfolget mir aufs &usserste mein Leben, ich muss in steter Furcht fttr seinem Trutzen schweben. Fdr ihm verkriech' ich mich, ich bin sein ewger Raub. Ereilet er mich denn, so wirft er mich in Staub und in ein finster Loch, da mich kein Liecht bestralet, ich bin den Todten gleich. (pp. 12-13) As a final example of Fleming's carefully measured inven­ tiveness in Psalm 1*4-3, the following versions of verse 6 are compared. The biblical analogy between spiritual thirst and a parched landscape are expanded by the poet who exploits this metaphorical potential until the reader is aware of the extreme nature of this drought as a visi­ tation from an angered God. 199

6 Ich breite meine hende aus zu dir, Meine Seele duerstet nach dir, wie ein duerre Land, Sela. 6 Ich strecke Nacht und Tag zu dir die lassen Arme, nach dir, Herr, durstet mich in diesem dtirren Harme, wie ein entsaftet Land, das sich zum Himmel neigt, und der erzttrnten Burg die tiefen Risse zeigt, gleich einem Seufzenden. (P. 13) Das Gebet Manasse: Manasse was one of the Old Testaments most evil Hebrew kings (see II Chron. 335 II Kings 21), and this prayer is his realization of personal guilt and the confession of his sins. The authorship and origins of this piece are disputed, and it is therefore found in the Apocrypha which concludes the Old Testament. As stated in footnote 20 to this chapter, Das Gebet Manasse has enough structural and substantive similarities to be easily appended to the preceding seven Busspsalmen. To indicate further that Fleming’s integration of this prayer into his Psalter was not just based on a similarity that he alone perceived, we find that Luther referred to the penitent figure of Manasse in his explications of the

P s a l m s . 33 Also, Luther's description of the Apocrypha, which contains Das Gebet Manasse, brings the prayer into line with the sententious tone established in the sonnet which introduces Fleming's Psalter. According to Luther these apocryphal writings are 200

. . . Bilcher: so der heillgen Schrift nicht gleich gehalten, und doch nfltzlich und gut zu lesen. (italics addedJJ4 Fleming's version of the prayer adds little, hut am­ plifies considerably. As a devotional statement it Is known for its expression of a personal sense of guilt, but in the following comparison of verse 7 one notes a shift in address to include Fleming's reader. 7 Denn du bist der Herr, der allerhoehest uber den gantzen Erdboden, von grosser gedult, und seer gnedig, und straffest die Leute nicht gerne, Und hast nach deiner Guete verheissen, Busse zur verge- bung der suenden. 7 Die Strafe triibt dich selbst, mit der du uns belegen. uns harte Sunder, must. Drumb hastu auch hingegen ein Vorteil auserdacht, wie du der offnen Schuld kanst einen Durchstrich tun und wieder werden huld. Das ist die ernste Buss', in der du uns quittierest von aller Missetat. (p. 14, italics' added) The original text utilizes first person pronouns thirteen times, whereas the poetic version uses them in twenty-six instances. The poet thus stresses the personal tone, and also succeeds in drawing the reader into the text through the first person plural pronoun so that Manasse's confes­ sion becomes ours as well. In the following comparison the nearly redoubled first person pronouns in Fleming's version provide additional urgency to the declarative and imperative sentences built on Luther's translation. 201

12 Ah Herr. Ich habe gesuendiget, Ja ich habe gesuendiget, und erkenne meine Missethat. 13 Ich bitte und flehe, vergib mir, o Herr vergib mirs. 14 Las mich nicht in meinen Suenden verderben, und las die Straffe nicht ewiglich auff mir bleiben. 12 Ach Herr, ich bin gefallen! Gefalien bin ich, Herr. Nun aber, wie dem Allen, ich kan und wil und sol es leugnen nicht filr dir, 13 ich beichte neine Schand’. Ich bitte, steh bei mir! vergib mir, fleh' ich, Herr! Herr, wehre dem Verderben! 14 Lass mich doch trostlos nicht in meinen Suenden sterben! Herr, mildre mir die Straf’, und lass sie tr&glich sein! Hilf mir Unwtirdigen und brich zu mir herein mit deinem Gn&digsein! (p. 15)35

In this prayer Fleming expands on Luther’s technique of removing any distance that exists between the confessional speaker and the reader, and creating a single penitent voice that petitions God for forgiveness. Also, consider­ ably more linguistic activity is contained in Fleming’s version: for example, there are six more complete clauses in his verses, and each is characterized by urgent confes­ sions, claims, or requests. There is little enjambement, and these clauses stop at either the caesural pause or the line’s end. Such segmenting makes it impossible to skim over these alexandrines, and one is forced to dwell on each portion which rises in its address to God, and is then broken off and replaced by another clause. The poetic ver­ sion thus attempts to make this prayer more personal and intense than the original statement. 202

Enough evidence has now been accumulated to comment on the relationship of Fleming’s versifications to the biblical original. The record of the preceding comparisons in itself leads to the conclusion that Fleming has presen­ ted his model essentially intact. Throughout, metrical ingenuity does not distort or distract. Nor does poetic diction,' phraseology, or rhetorical embellishment weigh down the original narrative line with superfluous flour­ ishes. Yet it is also clear that the poet aims for an effect beyond that found in the Bible. As a basic Chris­ tian expression the Psalter is a well known document with a familiar tone or presence, and it is this tone of personal lament and crying for mercy that Fleming seeks to amplify. This is not to suggest that the original biblical effect is subdued, for the Psalms are in themselves powerful lyrical utterances. Nevertheless, Fleming seeks to raise the aural level of these complaints and cries to help Jolt the reader into recognition of his own sins and the presence and

nature of God. In a sense Fleming is preaching. His fiery sermon is commonly known Christian material and his purpose is moral exhortation. Of course, Fleming is a poet who delights in his craft, and who probably expected some sort of personal profit from this display of artistic skill. Yet as was noted in the preceding discussions even metaphorical 203

expression does not appear as a means to delight, but as a tool designed to intensify and clarify by example. Instruction — not aesthetic satisfaction — is the key­ note. Many of the Psalms are rendered dramatically in the sense that the speaker is perceived as an actor who de­ claims his lines with great pathos. In each piece the scenario is similar, for the audience repeatedly views a speaker who finally realizes that his sins are his destruc­ tions and who is always reconciled with God in the most critical moment. Fleming amplifies the emotional and existential turbulence in this ordeal so that the message in his 11 drama as sermon" sounds through clearly. Also, in many cases the poet narrows the distance between reader and speaker, for the speaker’s role is our role, and he dare not be removed too far from our own situation. In Fleming the speaker’s individuality and humanness is understood and portrayed only in light of Lutheran dogma which stresses our sinflulness and justification before God by faith alone. Fleming's poetic version is often inventive, but is ultimately concerned only in delivering this message which is impeccably Lutheran; in fact the following passages excerpted from Luther's introduction to the Psalter demon­ strates just how consistently Fleming's conception of the

Psalms reflects that of Luther. 204

Ich halt aber, dass kein feiner Exempelbuch oder Legenden der Heiligen auff Erden komen sey oder komen muege, denn der Psalter 1st. Und wenn man wuendschen solt, dass aus alien Exempeln, Legenden, Historien, das beste gelesen und zusamen ge\bracht, und auff die beste weise gestellet wuerde^ so mueste es der itzige Psalter werden.3© Summa, Wiltu die heiligen Christlichen Kirchen gemalet sehen mit lebendiger Parbe und gestalt, in einem kleinen Bilde gefasset, So nim den Psalter fur dich, so hastu einen feinen, hellen, reinen, Spiegel, der dir zeigen wird, was die Christenheit sey.37

Fleming’s version is a transposition in "lebendiger Farbe", yet it is also a pure and distinct "Spiegel" of the Word. This reflection is then presented with a sententious pur­ pose as an "Exempelbuch". In so rendering biblical material with Lutheran emphases it is justifiable to char­ acterize the poet as epigonic and didactic. II. Religious Poems The works to be discussed in this section differ from the preceding pieces in that they are independent and con­ scious literary expressions as opposed to versifications of given material. Yet the fact that this study subsumes them under a single category requires a more precise delineation of the principles and spirit they share. Be­ fore approaching the poems for analysis it is therefore necessary to establish the critical premise which justifies my grouping them together as a particular kind of religious

poetry. 205

Considered collectively and individually Fleming's versifications of the Psalms express the full range of the "experiences" of faith, in that they encompass com­ plaining, lamenting, pleading, faltering, and accepting. They focus on inner struggle and continuously modulating tones which are ultimately reconciled and harmonized. Their movement is that of a journey, an arduous purgatory which leads to a breakthrough and a new, stronger faith. In contrast to the "process" of the Psalter, these poems are characterized by calm, sobriety, and organized feelings and reason. They do not describe the full "experience" of faith, but revolve around isolated and fixed points in a Lutheran framework. Instead of the psychological and emotional acts which filled the preceding versifications, these poems are essentially concerned only with theological and biblical facts. Here, the poet chooses a single basi­ cally Lutheran idea, motif, or sentiment, and treats it in a descriptive or subdued dramatic manner. He does not create new meanings or insights, but describes the old ones. Whenever he is concerned with the nature of the Divine Being, it is in a conventional and sanctioned manner that does not revel in the Ineffable or pursue the Transcendent. It is correct to say that in these poems the reader is aware of more than biblical overtones; indeed, we discover 206 that the Bible determines the very style, structure, and substance of these writings. If they are confessional at times it is in a tradi­ tional, acceptable, Lutheran way. The poet's private and unique experience is not at the center of these writings, rather, this core is filled with Lutheran constants and truths, and the web of implications spun at this center is then traced and described by the poet. In that Fleming embraces these constants which determine the modes and range of his actions, the base of these poems is not expe­ riential and private, but the unassailable authority of the Word and Lutheran tradition. The final shared characteristic of these poems is that they do not didactically prescribe, nor are they di­ rected inward as Exercitia spiritualia. Instead of being sermon-like or prayer-like they are simple religious themes presented in a pure and pious manner with the secular trap­ pings of poetry. As such basically nonspiritual pieces they do not communicate private religious experience, nor exhort to action, but are simply Protestant poems "about religion".

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Uber ein Kleines Herr, es 1st lange satt, dass ich dich nicht gesehen. Was mir fiir Kdmmerniiss dariiber ist geschehen, wie Angst mir itzt noch ist, das weiss nur ich und du, wir beide wissens nur. Ach, mein Herr, siehe zu, 5 dass mir dein Absein nicht die halbverzehrte Seele, die so nach dir verlangt, bis auf das Sterben qu&le! Erzeige dich mein Arztl Der wenigste Verzug versaumt den Kranken oft; ist sie schon auf den Flug die Seele, so ists aus. Wie ist doch dieses Kleine 10 wie achl wie gross bei ihr! sie sieht nach dir, die deine, l&sst keinen Blick vorbei, schickt Sinn und Geist nach dir. Itzt fleugt sie selbst dir nach. Ach was verbleibt nur mir? Ich bin nun nicht mehr ich. Ktimt sie nicht balde wieder und bringt dich, ihren Freund und meinen Trost, hernieder, 15 wie? wo? was werd* ich sein? der ich schon itzt vorhin ein lebendiger Tod und totes Leben bin. (p. 28) The biblically oriented reader of the seventeenth century — and who was not? — would recognize that this poem deals with the episode related in John l6 ;l6 . This Gospel presents Jesus' taking leave of His followers. He explains that the true believers will come to perceive His spiritual presence: "Uber ein kleines, so werdet ir mich nicht sehen, und aber uber ein kleines, so werdet ir mich sehen11 (John 16:16). The poem thus relates the inner 208 experience of a believer who accepts these words and awaits the promised return of Christ to dwell in his heart. Whereas the biblical episode is simply a recounting of Christ's message., it is Fleming’s innovation that the story is told from the point of view of the believer who reacts to this message. In this manner the original account shows through, clear and complete even as it is given a slightly subjective facet. In the first line of this poem the speaker states that it has been some time since he has been comforted by Christ's presence. Even though he is aware of Jesus’ pro­ mise that this absence would be short he is nevertheless miserable in this less. In the remainder of the poem we then observe one believer’s reaction to Christ’s Ascension and promise. However, for the student of Fleming’s poetry a problem arises in the language used to communicate this yearning for Christ's comfort. The problem lies in the kinship between certain phrases in this poem which state the speaker's love and yearning for the Lord, and similar phrasings in Fleming's love poetry which express purely secular love. For example, line 11 of tllber ein Kleines, . . . foie SeeleJ schickt Sinn und Geist nach dir (p. 28, 1 . 1 1 ), reminds the reader of these excerpts from secular lyrics: 209

. . . Mein Geist zeucht von mir aus (p. 516, 1 . 10), Isie|treibt mich aus mir und meinem Sinne L J (p. 403* 1 . 2 2 ). In line 13 of this religious piece the speaker states Ich bin nun nicht mehr ich . . . (p. 28, 1. 13)* which echoes these lines spoken in love poems: ' Seit dass ich nicht mehr meine bin (p. 403* 1. 17), so bin ich nimmermehr selbest in und bei mir (p. 219, 1 . 1 0 ). In line 8 of tiber ein Kleines Fleming’s speaker refers to himself as l!den Kranken", which finds a parallel in this excerpt from yet another love lyric: Bekenne selbst auf dich, mein kranker Sinn (p. 429* H * 64-65)- The final line in the poem under consideration, flch binj ein lebendiger Tod und totes Leben (p. 28, 1. 16), reminds one of these passages which deal with frustrated secular love: Diss besinnet so mein Sin, dass ich tot bei Leben bin (p. 399* H - 31“32), diss macht mich . . . ftir lebend tot (p. 429, 11 • 55~56). Does this similarity in expression indicate a sameness between the love of an ardent believer and the love of a sometime cavalier poet? Is this a blend of erotic and spiritual love in the manner of Spee’s Trutz-Nachtigall or 210

Silesius' Gelstllche Hirtenlieder? If the two values are interchangeable on a surface linguistic level then does the reader of Fleming acquire the pejorative image of a poet who clips and pastes to create his art? Hans Pyritz and Eva Dlirrenfeld address this problem.39 Their studies deal with Fleming's Petrarchan vocabulary of love, arid both conclude that the poet allowed these secular images and figures to operate in the religious mode as well. Petrarchan conventions penetrate all of Fleming's work, and, indeed, Dttrrenfeld concludes^0 that these interchange­ able expressions take on the character of masks. Many of these fixed phrases, continues Dhrrenfeld, differ from their Petrarchan source only in that they invert the Entselbstigung theme which is so important throughout Fleming's poetry: Auch das Entselbstigungsmotiv der Petrarkisten ist fiir das geistliche Gedicht fruchtbar geworden, freilich mit der Umkehrung: 'Ich will nicht meine sein', wie iiberhaupt die meisten Antithesen aus der petrarkistischen Liebesdichtung im geistlichen Bezirk ver&nderte Bedeutung haben.^

With this critical image in mind it then appears that in tfber ein Kleines the poet makes an easy transfer of his secular phrasings into a religious sphere. Fleming seems to borrow from his stock of love conventions in an easy and stylized manner, which renders him nonreligious and consistently 211 inauthentic in his spiritual utterances; that is, he wears his Petrarchan mask for all occasions. Such statements seem persuasive, but it can also be argued that Fleming’s phrasings have an orthodox Lutheran antecedent. These usages may have surface similarity with elements in the Petrarchan system, but also have significant roots of meaning in a Christian context. Diirrenfeld recog­ nizes that some of the phraseology being discussed reminds the reader of biblical usages: "Dem Pfarrersohn Fleming kbnnen solche Zitate aus der Bibel unbewusst in die Feder geflossen sein",^ but prefers the thesis that Petrarchan impulses were more important. I disagree and contend that the poetic application is not "unbewusst", but a conscious process that exploits the metaphorical resources of the Bible and the Lutheran tradition. In tiber ein Kleines certain phrasings may have Petrarchan parallels, but they are also developed throughout the New Testatment. Many of them are also metaphorical commonplaces in Lutheran devotional literature, which can be demonstrated on the basis of Johann Arndt’s writings. Johann Arndt (1555-1621) is a key figure in the Prot­ estant tradition. Newald^^ describes Arndt’s Vom wahren

Christentum (1605-09) as "das bedeutendste Buch der ganzen lutherischen Asketik". Bftckmann^ recognizes pieces such as Arndt's devotional book ParadissG&rtlein (1612) as one 212 of the major impulses which shaped Baroque religious poetry. Arndt’s tracts and prayers are thus considered to have had vast implications for expression in the Luth­ eran seventeenth century* and can often serve the critic as measure and touchstone in evaluating specific Baroque poets. ^ At this point this study does not propose a direct influence of Arndt on Fleming* but will briefly examine Arndt in order to find decidedly Lutheran analogues to Fleming's expressions and tone in tiber ein Kleines. In so doing it will become clear that Fleming did not simply indulge Petrarchan impulses in a facile manner* but crafted his language in an orthodox Lutheran way. A portion of the text of tjber ein Kleines is again given below* and is followed by excerpts from the Bible and various prayers in Arndt's ParadissGErtlein. . . . Ach, mein Herr* siehe zu* dass mir dein Absein nicht die halbverzehrte Seele* die so nach dir verlangt* bis auf das Sterben qu&le! Erzeige dich* mein Arztl Der wenigste Verzug vers&Lumt den Kranken oft; ist sie schon auf den Flug die Seele* so ists aus. Wie ist doch dieses Kleine wie ach! wie gross bei ihr! sie sieht nach dir* die deine* l&sst keinen Blick vorbei* schickt Sinn und Geist nach dir. Itzt fleugt sie selbst dir nach. Ach was verbleibt nur mir.? 213

Ich bin nun nicht mehr ich. Ktimt sie nicht balde wieder und bringt dich, ihren Freund und meinen Trost, hernieder, wie? wo? was werd’ ich sein? der ich schon itzt vorhin ein lebendiger Tod und totes Leben bin. (p. 28, 11. 4-16) Ach mein himmlischer Arzt! ich bringe • zu dir eine todte . . . kranke Seele, heile sie. (II, 11)46

Ach Jesu, . . . fiihre mich von mir selber ab, und nimm mich auf zu dir, ja in dich. Denn in dir lebe ich; in mir selber sterbe ich. . . . Ach du mein himmlischer Br&utigam, komm zu mir, ich will dich fiihren in die Kammer meines Herzens. (II, 11) Lass mich empfinden, dass du in mir lebest, o mein Leben; wie du mich liebest, o meine Liebe; wie du mich trbstest . . . o mein Trost. . . . Lass mich von mir selbst ausgehen, auf dass du zu mir eingehest. (I, 16) Ach wenn ich deine Liebe verliere, was habe ich dann? . . . Ach so lass mich nach dir weinen und dich mit Thr&nen suchen . . . und nicht aufhbren, bis ich dich finde. Denn du hast mich je und je geliebet, darum hast du mich nach dir gezogen aus lauter Giite. (II, 5) Ach dass sich die Brunnen meiner Augen aufth&ten, und vor Liebe heisse Thranen vergbssen, und ich dir so lange nach- weinete, . . . bis du mich holest, . . . dass ich mit dir Ein Herz, Ein Geist und Ein Leib werde! Ach ziehe mich nach dir, so laufe ich. (II, 5) Ich elender Mensch! Wer wird mich erlbsen von dem Leibe dieses Todes? (Rom. 7:24) 214

To be sure, the tenor and phrasings in tjber ein Kleines can also be traced to nonreligious applications in Fleming's poetry, but the above analogues from the Luth­ eran tradition represented by Arndt show that they were not confined to seventeenth century secular expression. Besides, if one is reminded of the Baroque controversy over the intrusion of worldly elements into religious poetry, then one doubts Fleming's intentional gilding of sacred themes with Petrarchan devices. It is more probable that Uber ein Kleines was written and read with Lutheran models in mind, and the thesis that Fleming simply assumed his Petrarchan mask becomes less tenable. This poem thus tells us that it has a place in the Lutheran tradition; Fleming, the Pfarrersohn. borrows the theme and setting from the Bible, recounts this episode from a new point of view, and expresses acceptable Lutheran sentiments in acceptable Lutheran terms. It is neither sermon nor prayer, but an uncomplicated religious theme presented in a pious manner with the trappings of Opitzian poetry.

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Andacht Ich lebe, doch nicht ich; derselbe lebt in mir, der mir durch seinen Tod das Leben bringt herfttr. 215

Mein Leben war sein Tod, sein Tod war mir mein Leben, nur geb1 ich wieder ihm, was er mir hat gegeben. 5 Er lebt durch meinen Tod, mir sterb* ich t&glich ab. Der Leib, mein irdnes Teil, der ist der Seelen Grab, er lebt nur auf den Schein. Wer ewig nicht wil sterben, der muss hier in der Zeit verwesen und verderben, weil er noch sterben kan. Der Tod, der geistlich heisst, 10 der ist alsdann zu spat, x*ann uns sein Freund hinreisst, der unsern Leib bringt um. Herr, gieb mir die Genade dass dieses Leibes Brauch nicht meiner Seelen schade. Mein Alles und mein Nichts, mein Leben, meinen Tod, das hab' ich bei mir selbst. Hilfst du, so hats nicht Not. 15 Ich wil, ich mag, ich sol, ich kan mir selbst nicht raten, dich wil ichs lassen tun, du hast bei dir die Taten. Die ivflndsche tu ich nur, ich lasse mich ganz dir. Ich wil nicht meine sein. Nim mich nur, gieb dich mirI (pp. 26-g8 ) There are two major divisions in the structure of this poem: lines 1-11 compose a basically third person narrative which relates the speaker's experiences and perceptions; lines 11-18 constitute a prayer characterized by the same speaker's appeal to God in the form of confessions, requests, and imperatives. The discussion of Andacht will therefore also have two parts and will consider each section of the poem separately. - — ~ 216

Hankamer^ recognizes in this poem an "iiber das Luthertum hinausweisenden Gehalt" and ,!eine mystisch - ekstatische Wiedergeburt und Vergottung". If, in Roland Bainton’s words, The end of the mystic way is the absorption of the creature in the creator. . . . The struggler overcomes his restlessness, ceases his battering, surrenders himself to the Everlasting, and in the abyss of Being finds his peace, then one can concur with Hankamer’s generalizations. The reader in fact discovers just such absorption and surrender in the first eleven lines of this poem. In lines 3 and K the speaker’s sense of oneness with Christ allows him to grasp and even identify with the Redeemer. Line 5 expres­ ses the thought that the relationship of the speaker and God is so intermingling that Christ’s existence depends on the poetic "I". In these lines the antitheses of God and man as well as death and life are reconciled; the alexan­ drine verse employed here even contributes to this sense of reconciled opposites, in that each line attempts to balance (or cancel out) the very tension implied in each half-alexandrine. After the intensity of dialectic state­ ment in this introductory section, lines 6-11 have a slower pace in their attempt to clarify and expand the meaning of the preceding paradoxical formulations. There is less a tone of exaltation in these lines which introduce 217 the doctrinal ideas of soul, temptation, sin, and salvation. They are distinctly Christian concepts, and perhaps cause one to reconsider the mystical and rhapsodic tenor of the original statements in lines 1-5. In fact, Hankamer’s assessment that this poem, in its ecstacy, transcends the dogmatic substance of Lutheranism, is only partially cor­ rect and' requires review and modification. The quintessentially anti-dogmatic, subjective, mystical type of Baroque poetry can be expressed in Silesius* distich, Ich weiss dass ohne mich Gott nicht ein Nun kan leben/ Werd' ich zu nicht Er muss von Noth den Geist auffgeben.^9

This self-assertion, however, Is not found in Fleming’s Andacht. Instead of being individualistic the essence of Fleming's quasi-mystical message is in fact discovered in Paul’s New Testament teachings on the true Christian Spirit.It is significant that Paul's biblical develop­ ment of this theme does not stress private religious visions, but rather the real and continuous experience that Christ dwells in the believer -- every believer. This is, to be sure, a kind of Christ-mysticism, and identification with the Lord, but It is orthodox and is a part of early Christian theological teachings and is stressed again in the Lutheran movement.51 The following biblical passages 218 from Paul demonstrate the development of this theme of "approved" mysticism. In them the reader recognizes not only the phrasings that constitute the mystical statement in Andacht, but also the same explication of the nature of this Christ-raysticism. Ich lebe aber, doch nu nicht ich, sondem Christus lebet in mir. Denn was ich itzt lebe im Pleisch, das lebe ich in dem glauben des sons Gottes, der mich geliebet hat, und Sich selbs fur mich dargegeben. (Gal. 2:20) Wisset ir nicht, das alle die wir in Jhesum Christ! getaufft sind, die sind in seinen Tod getaufft? So sind wir je mit im gegraben durch die Tauffe in den tod, Auff das, gleich wie Christus ist aufferweckt von den Todten, durch die herrligkeit des Vaters, Also sollen auch wir in einem newen Leben wandeln. (Rom. 6:3-4-) KO It is clear that Fleming's poem has a biblical model.J In its narrative and explicative verses the first portion of Andacht has a mystical tone, but only in that it re­ counts Paul's ideas. It describes "eine mystische- ekstatische Wiedergeburt und Vergottung" as Hankamer indi­ cates, but states these matters in a defined, sanctioned, Christian manner. The poem thus hinges on a Christian convention and is not anti-dogmatic as Hankamer contends. The second portion of Andacht, lines 11 - 18, consti­ tutes the speaker's prayer. In the preceding mystical seg­ ment of this poem the speaker states his experience or perception of a truth. To recognize this message is a 219

crucial epiphany for all Christians (see John 17:3)* but it is not enough to perceive this truth, for according to Luther it must be achieved through struggle and sacrifice. The prayer of lines 11 - 18 results, then, from the Lutheran sensitivity that there are complications before the believer can realize Paul's message and approach the > Godhead.* The preconditions for attaining this stable and consoling level of faith are: the recognition of one's impurity and weakness; the appeal to God amidst one's distress and in spite of one's sinfulness, for only His grace can save us; and finally the surrender in faith that His mercy will justify us in His sight. These three phases form the crucial Lutheran doctrine of justification by faith alone, and it is this view which determines the structure and content of the prayer in Andacht. The lines, . . . Herr, gieb mir die Gnade, dass dieses Leibes Brauch nicht meiner Seelen schade (p. 29, 1. 11-12), declare the speaker's recognition of his basic sinfulness; his tendency and habit, "Brauch”, is a constant threat to the welfare of his soul. With tremor the speaker empha­ sizes what is at stake: Mein Alles und mein Nichts, mein Leben, meinen Tod, das hab' ich bei mir selbst. . . . (p. 30, 11. 13-14). But the speaker is also aware of his helplessness and basic sinfulness, and in the following lines he appeals to God, 220 for only His grace can make the differences . . . Hilfst du, so hats nicht Not. Ich wil, ich mag, ich sol, ich kan mir selbst nicht raten, dich wil ichs lassen tun, du hast bei dir die Taten. (p. 30, 11. 14-16) The succession of modal auxiiaries in this passage indicates Just how helpless the speaker is in all modes of positive action toward his salvation. He accordingly immolates his will, and in the following lines he makes whole the Luth­ eran belief that only surrender and faith can secure our souls: Die Wflndsche tu ich nur, ich lasse mich ganz dir. Ich wil nicht meine sein. Nim mich nur, gieb dich mir! (p. 30, 11. 17-18) In order to clinch the argument that this prayer is of Lutheran stock it is again helpful to glance at Johann Arndt's writings. As stated in the discussion of flber ein Kleines Arndt's significance as a dominant Protestant figure allows his work to function as a critic's point of refer­ ence in examining Baroque religious poems. In the following excerpts from Arndt prayers, then, the reader recognizes similarities to Fleming's poems, which indicates again that this poet propagates traditional concerns. Herr Jesu Christe, . . . so hilf mir, well ich noch im Fleische lebe, dass ich nicht nach dem Fleische lebe, sondern dass meine Taufe t^glich in mir fructbar sey, und wirke die Ttfatung des Fleisches, dass ich tflglich 221

mit dir sterbe durch herzlich Reue und Leid. Denn wer tSglich in ihm selbst stirbet, der hat allzeit einen neuen Anfang seines Lebens in dir. (II, 9) Gott, . . . so lass mich . . . tfiglich bedenken, . . . dass ich dich habe angezogen, als ein Geschenk der ewigen Gerechtigkeit und Seligkeit, und als ein neues Leben, dadurch du in mir und Ich in dir leben und bleiben mfige ewiglich. 9) The phraseology and tenor parallel those found in Andacht, and the biblical source of both Arndt and Fleming is evi­ dent. In conclusion we recognize a poet who Is concerned with describing religious experience of a Lutheran hue. His poetic narrative and prayer are concerned with matters of orthodox faith and not independent subjective statement. Indeed, a truly mystical and anti-dogmatic poetic expres­ sion bridges the gap between God and man through love and self-assertion (see Silesius quoted above), whereas the Lutheran speaker in this poem achieves his consolation through the rigorous process of justification by faith alone.

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Gedanken fiber der Zeit

Ihr lebet in der Zeit und kennt doch keine Zeit; so wisst, ihr Menschen, nicht von und in was ihr seid. Diss wisst ihr, dass ihr seid in einer Zeit geboren und dass ihr werdet auch in einer Zeit verloren. 5 Was aber war die Zeit, die euch in sich gebracht? Und was wird dies sein, die euch zu nichts mehr macht? Die Zeit 1st was und nichts, der Mensch in gleichem Falle, doch was dasselbe was und nichts sei, zweifeln alle. Die Zeit, die stirbt in sich und zeugt sich auch aus sich. 10 Diss kflmmt aus mir und dir, von dem du bist und ich. doch aber muss der Mensch, wenn sie noch bleibet, weichen. Die Zeit ist, was ihr seid, und ihr seid, was die Zeit, nur dass ihr wenger noch, als was die Zeit ist, seid. 15 Ach dass doch jene Zeit, die ohne Zeit ist, kfime und uns aus dieser Zeit in ihre Zeiten nShme, und aus uns selbsten uns, dass wir gleich kfinten sein, wie der itzt j'ener Zeit, die keine Zeit geht ein! (p. 30) As Trunz and Vosskamp point out,^3 it is part of the Baroque Weltbild that creation will have a duration of 6,000 years, all predetermined by the Creator. According to these critics seventeenth century Lutherans embraced Luther’s computation that the world was created 3,9^3 years before Christ's birth, and accepted the interpretation that the six millenia represent the six days in the creation story, which are followed by Sunday — the eternal rest beginning on the Day of Judgement. This Weltbild also stresses a dual conception of time; there is the finite 223 span of our lives and the 6,000 years of creation, and that of the Infinite which continues even as the temporal plane expires, and in which our souls will hopefully partic­ ipate. Fleming's poem, then, speculates on this Divine Plan and the awareness of two levels of time and experience. The first two lines introduce the theme and under­ score the problematic concepts involved. In these lines it becomes clear that Zeit Is not to be discussed simply as a temporal measure, but also as a mode of being. The second person address refers to mankind, and the speaker indicates to his audience that one's experience and perceptions are insufficient and even deceptive in properly reckoning time. Men are familiar with the hours, days, and months that fill their lifetimes, yet they are told in this poem that they have no real understanding of themselves and their mode of being. The range of perception in this dimension is very limited, and as lines point out, we are familiar only with the span between birth and death, which is indeed a meager understanding. The central question at issue is then raised in lines 5-6; namely, what about the other time and mode, the Infinite, out of which and into which man proceeds? The crux of the poem lies in this dualistic definition and double movement, and the following section of the poem, lines 7-l^> undertakes to sort out these confusing elements. 22k

Diesseits and Jenselts, or appearance and reality — these are the antimonies now engaged in the speaker's mind. Lines 7-8 state that this-worldly time is a tangible, knowable entity just as man, but these lines also remind us that both time and man are unreal and misleading in appearance, and are as such nearly indescribable. The speaker then seeks an accurate definition of die Zeit by establishing its movement as a parallel to the human life cycle; in lines 9-10 this elusive concept is described as the continuous oscillation between life and death. Lines 11 - 14 propose further that this-worldly time, just as man, is bounded by a definite beginning and end, (for even creation is temporary with its life span of 6,000 years).

These lines come to stress that Zeit and man are both impermanent, provisionally significant, and ultimately un­ real. We participate with the entire mode of material existence on the same plane of mutability, and the only distinction the speaker adds in line 14 is that man's duration of existence is even shorter. The speaker thus emphasizes the illusionary nature of all things bounded by finite time, and in its very temporariness humanness comes to represent die Zeit.

In lines 7 - Ik the poet depends on the known finite­ ness of our bodily existence to help define temporal time. In stressing the human condition of relentless change 225 rushing onward to death and dissolution, it is no wonder that in lines 15 - 18 the speaker yearns for the changeless Zeit which is Infinity. In these closing lines he need define Infinity no more than to describe it as ", . . Jene Zeit, die ohne Zeit ist . . .” (1. 15); that is, that mode which is free of the concept of process and mutability. The yearning in these final lines is for the promise of Christianity to free us from ourselves and our temporari­ ness, and to allow us to participate in indivisible and immutable eternal Time: . . . dass wir gleich kflnten sein, wie der itzt jener Zeit, die keine Zeit geht ein! (11. 17-18) In this poem Fleming crystallizes a well known Chris­ tian phenomenon: the concept of time as two separate chords which do not entail a polyphony, but which ultimately are part of the Divine Harmony. This is not the first instance in which Fleming wrote with this Weltbild in mind, for the following passages hinge on the same concept in their de­ scription of the Deity: . . . Du bist der Zeit Verwalter, doch ausser aller Zeit. Du weisst von keinem Alter, bleib'st immer, wer du bist. . ... (p. 11, 11. 73-75) Jehovah, aber du bleibst immer, wie du bist, umschreibst dich durch dich. Die ewigkeit, Herr, ist bloss deines Endes Ziel. . . . (p. 11, 11. 83-85) 226

Fleming's comments on this Christian Weltbild thus consti­ tute an inspiring display of Divine Order, an Order for which man longs as he stands in his finite plane with its inexorable process.5^

In the yearn for release and stasis noted in Gedanken

Aber der Zeit, Hankaraer55 recognizes the influence of

"mystischen ZeitstrSmungen". To dismiss this view and stress further Fleming's ties to the Protestant tradition, the following commentary by Luther is provided. It forms part of Luther's thinking on eschatology and objectively explicates a Christian's reckoning of time. The connection to Fleming's view of time will be obvious. Es sind zweyerley ansehen, eynes fur Gott, das ander fur der welt. So ist auch dises leben und jenes leben zweyerley. Dis leben kan jenes nicht seyn, sintemal zu jenem nymand komen kan, denn durch den tod, das ist, durch das auffhoren dieses lebens. Dieses leben ist nu essen, trincken, schlaffen, dauwen, kinder zeugen usf. Da gehet es alles nach der zal, stunden, tag, und iar nach eynander, wenn du nu jenes leben wilt ansehen, mustu den lauff des gegenwertigen lebens gar aus dem sinn schlahen, darffsts nicht dencken, das du es also zelen kundest, da wirds alles eyn tag seyn, eyne stunde, eyn augenblick. Weyl nu fur Gottes angesicht keyne rechnung der zeyt ist, so mussen tausen iar fur ihm seyn, als wer es eyn tag. Darumb ist ihm der erst mensch Adam eben so nahe als der zum letzten wird geboren werden vorm iungsten tag. . . . Wir kunnen durch unsere vernunfft die zeyt nicht anders ansehen, denn nach der leng, mussen anfahen zu zelen vom Adam eyn iar nach dem andern bis auff 227

den Jungsten tag. Fur Got ist es aber alles auff einem hauffen, was fur uns lang ist, ist fur ihm kurtz, und widderumb, denn da ist keyn mas noch zal.5o Herewith we see that Fleming's poems are not only a reaction to a general seventeenth century Weltbild, but also a pointedly Lutheran view. In that Gedanken flber der Zeit relates to the end of the temporal world and the expecta­ tion that we will share in the measureless duration, it is an eschatological poem. And as is the case with the pre­ ceding two poems discussed at length, it speaks not in a private voice, but a voice representative of all Christians. Also, it does not utter new insights, but restates familiar truths. It is a successful piece in that it probes the complex implications of its theme, yet never degenerates to mere image-heaping or repetition and variation in a negative baroque sense. It is not a mechanical poem, but an organic one that develops new relationships among its rhetorical members and develops each thought aesthetically. Fleming's poem is traditionally Lutheran, yet independent and unique in its formulation of the nearly inexpressible.

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All three poems discussed, tfber ein Kleines, Andacht, and Gedanken flber der Zeit, revolve around fixed points in a Lutheran framework. In each case a single orthodox idea, motif, or sentiment provides the material to be fashioned 228 by the poet’s mind. And as these discussions have demon­ strated there is a perfect fusion of poetry and dogma, in that Fleming’s poetic intentions always produce clear Christian associations. Yet there are other poems which allow Baroque aesthetic emphases to distract from the religious theme. In the following excerpt from Fleming’s Auf dieselig machende Geburt unseres Erlflsers Jesu Christi, it is noteworthy that poetic flourishes bring the reader to concentrate on the secondary elements and back­ drop of the Nativity scene. Unser Himmel ist im Stalle. Recht so, Hirte Sybotus, dass du mit der Pfeifen Schalle ihm verehrest deinen GrussI Bei der Engel lauten Chfiren l^ssest du dich billich htfren. Fleug, gemalter West, und streue aus dem Blumen-Himmel Klee! Dass die Luft Narzissen speie, Lilgen fiir den weissen Schnee, dass das Kind als in der Wiege und in hellen Windeln liege! Ihr, ihr eingestallten Tiere, haucht ihm warmen Atern zu, dass es keine KSlte rtihre! St<5rt es nicht aus seiner Ruh! Jungfrau Mutter, denk indessen, dass du Amme bist, und wessen! 0 ihr hochgelobten Krippen, unsers Heilands Schirm und Rast, und o Stall, dass du nicht Lippen, dass du doch nicht Zungen hast, dass du selbsten ktfntest singen von den wundersamen Dingen! (pp. 232, 11. 25-48) There is joy at this Christian event, which accounts for the figurative exhuberance, but it is clear that aesthetic concern supplants the dogmatic implications. 229

The speaker in the following excerpt from Christum lieben ist besser denn Alles wissen addresses God, but instead of developing a single confessional antecedent, the passage amasses a variety of Christian topoi in praise and supplication. Again, the emphasis seems to be on poetic flourishes and not the impeccable presentation of orthodoxy. 0 Alles fiber All! 0 mehr als alles Alles, vor Allem allzeit da, ein Aufstand alles Falles, nach Allem stets wie vor, ein Einzler an der Zahl, doch fiber alle Zahl und Zeiten allzumal, fflr dem der schSrfste Witz ist Aberwitz zu nennen, du aller Sch&tze Schatz, den nur die Seelen kennen, ffir dem die Erhe Schmach, die Wollust Unlust heisst, ein geistgestalter Mensch, ein menschgestalter Geist, o Menschgott, Heiland, Hell! dem alle Dinge geben in Allem alien Preis, du alles Lebens Leben und alles Todes Tod! du bist es, Jesu, du, ohn dem Nichts Alles ist und minder noch darzu. Ach Alles, lass mein Nichts dir darumb doch gefallen, dieweil es nichts wil ein in andern Sachen alien, gieb, Alles, mir, dem Nichts, in allem Rat und Tat, so hab' und kan ich mehr, als Alles kan und hat! (pp. 31-32, 11. 22-38) The example of these two passages as facile evocations of Christian aspects indicates that poetry and dogma do not always interact harmoniously in Fleming's writings. 230

These excerpts resemble the poems discussed in this sec­ tion, in that they too are essentially objective and "about religion". In the process of image-crafting, however, Christian events and figures recede in value. Dogma and pious tone are forfeited in these passages which are devoid of the spiritual significance noted in Andacht, tfber ein Kleines, and Gedanken flber der Zeit.

III. Meditative and Contemplative Sonnets In Fleming's religious sonnets this study delineates two poetic types: meditative or contemplative, both being high forms of prayer. The terms "meditative" and "contem­ plative" may seem to overlap, but in the following analyses the distinction will gradually be made clear on the basis of accumulating evidence. The evaluation of these two types in Fleming's spiritual sonnets falls into two por­ tions in order to consider separately the distinguishing characteristics of these poems. Meditations The basic experience in this first set of poems is alienation from God, which evokes a tone of devotion and supplication that might raise the speaker from his misery. Man is his own obstacle to reconciliation, and each poem ponders this uncomfortable fact. To indicate how conven­ tionally Lutheran such meditations are it is helpful to 231 glance at Johann Gerhard (1562-1637)* who, in Bflckmann's w o r d s , 57 "der gelehrteste und berflhmteste der alt- protestantischen Dogmatiker". Gerhard’s following state­ ment constitutes the same ground which will be repeatedly traversed by Fleming's speaker in the poems to be discussed: Ich untersuche mein Leben, und siehe, es ist ganz eitel und sch£ndlich. Eitel und unndtz sind viele meiner Handlungen, eitel sind meine mehresten Reden, ja eitel sind meine meisten Gedanken. Und nicht nur eitel ist mein Leben, sondern auch sch£ndlich und gottlos. Ich find darin nichts gutes. . . . So find ich auf Erden keine Zuflucht. . . . Wo soli ich also hinfleihen: zu dir, o Christe, unser einziger Erlfiser und Seligmacher.58

If the following poems do not explicitly state this aware­ ness as a theme, they at least proceed from it as a presupposition. Man is a sinner, and it is the speaker's awareness of this tendency and basic perversity that shapes his colloquy with God. Each poem, then, cultivates a new relationship with Christ and is composed of two parts: the perception of the above theme of sinful helplessness and the resultant pleading. The motion in these meditations traces the soul's awareness which rises upward from self- distrust to a new hope in God. Such a meditative topic and pattern is Lutheran. It acknowledges an established relationship between God and man that is fundamentally "impossible", and seeks to proceed from this debilitating awareness of the self as a helpless 232 object to new roots of meaning and support through faith. This entails the Lutheran concept of salvation, and the speaker's words and thoughts are therefore determined by a known plan which seeks reconciliation in a known source. The perceptions and invocations of these poems thus em­ brace doctrinal truth, and could ultimately be considered "training" in eschatological awareness. Yet it is probably more meaningful to emphasize the this-worldly sense of resolution and devoutness that this speaker's colloquy instills. In that it is in the nature of things that man's relationship with God is often tenuous and temporary and must continuously be renewed, these meditations attempt to rekindle devotional embers and to above all reach for divine aid. In this function to refresh and create mo­ tions in the soul they are akin to spiritual exercises.59 The final introductory comment on the tenor of these poems is the following excerpt which closes Fleming's sonnet fiber sein Gelllbde. In these lines the speaker is filled with a sense of resolution and devoutness. Yet to sustain

this newly cultivated attitude, divine support is critically necessary. This awareness, invocation, and attempt to establish a new relationship with God will characterize all of the following sonnets. 233

Herr, was mein Mund geredt, das soil das Herze halten, doch soil ich Beides tun, so mustu helfen walten; hilfst du mir halten nicht, so hilft mich keine Pflicht. (p. 445, 11• 12-14)

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An meinen Erlflser Erhflre meine Not, du aller Not Erhflrer, hilf Heifer aller Welt, hilf mir auch, der ich mir selbselbst nicht helfen kan; ich suche Trost bei dir. Herr, du hast Rat und Tat. Dich preisen deine Lehrer, 5 wie du es denn auch bist, fiir einen » Glaubensmehrer. Ich bin desselben leer. Hier steh1 ich: ich steh' hier. Erfiille mich mit dir und deines Geistes Zier. Er ist es, er dein Geist, der rechte Glaub e ns me hr e r. Arzt, ich bin krank nach dir. Du Brunnen Israel, 10 dein kr&ftigs Wasser lflscht den Durst der matten Seel’. Auch dein Blut, Osterlam, hat meine Tflr errdtet, die zu dem Herzen geht. Ich steife mich auf dich, du mein Hort, du mein Fels. Belebe, Leben, mich. Dein Tod hat meinen Tod, du Todes Tod getfltet. (p. 444) In the octet the speaker's crisis, his "Not", lies in the recognition of his spiritual death and misery in the absence of Christ. There is no moderation in the insistence of the poetic "I" upon his helplessness In finding consolation, for in lines 4 - 8 he elaborates on his 234 insufficient faith. This is a critical declaration, because no spiritual transformation can take place unless this single foundation is abundantly present. The speaker is immobile and helpless to an extreme degree, and before any positive Christian response can be evoked the speaker must be reinforced in his faith: Ich bin ideines Geistesj leer. Hier steh' ich: ich steh' hier. Erfillle mich mit dir und deines Geistes Zier. (11. 6-7) Such a tone indicates that this is not a prayer for stead­ fastness in order to resist temporal distractions and temptations. Nor is it confessional in that it elaborates the numerous sins which brought about the speaker's spir­ itual malaise. It instead emphasizes numbing immobility and weakness in the absence of faith, for only in such strength, not in proper conduct or confession, can the speaker be saved. With this requisite of the Lutheran plan of salvation in mind, this meditation thus describes the speaker's realization of his need of God's grace. In his passivity and privation he therefore addresses God in the octet as "Heifer" (1. 2), "Glaubensmehrer" (11. 5*8), and "aller Not Erhflrer" (1. 1). Yet in the tone of his invocation that begins in the first line and weaves through the poem to a culmination in the sextet, it is also clear that the speaker seems 235 assured of assistance. His faith may need enriching, but we note that it has already been renewed if the speaker can precisely describe his lack and accordingly turn to Christ for aid. This is the first stage in the "premedi­ tated'1 plan of this meditation which is based on the Luther­ an doctrine of salvation. To indicate that this poem is not as despairing as it may seem, and to demonstrate that the speaker’s accrual of necessary faith is well under way, it is helpful to examine the blood image in lines 11 - 12. tfarnke^0 describes this image as a device of scriptural prefiguration: a typological analogy that connects an episode in the Old Testament to its equivalent in the New Testament. Warnke is correct, for Exodus 12;37 recounts the first Passover when the captive Israelites were spared from God's anger at the Egyptians by marking their doors with the blood of their finest lambs. Having been saved once, in the New Testament the chosen ones are delivered again, but this time by the sacrifice of the Paschal Lamb. In both episodes blood is the token of deliverance and is a symbol of perpetual Love that remedies all situations. The significance of this scriptural analogy in Fleming's meditation is that, even in his seemingly waning faith, the speaker nevertheless knows that this token of redemp­ tion is in reach, for Christ, in His mercy, will support him. In spite of his emptiness, "ich bin . . . leer ..." 236

(1. 5)> he recognizes the divine promise of aid, and in ^ lines 9 - 14 he bathes himself in new confidence and spiritual warmth. The speaker knows that Christ will not fail in His promise; indeed, for the speaker's heart has already been annointed with the Blood that assures new spiritual life and salvation: Auch dein Blut, Osterlam, hat meine T&r errdtet, die zu dem Herzen geht. . . . Dein Tod hat meinen Tod, du Todes Tod getdJtet. (11. 11-14) The process of reflection in this meditation must include a recognition of our basic sinfulness and helpless­ ness before spiritual progress can be made. This explains the initial exterior of despair which is gradually changed to confidence through faith. The speaker's soul may have been worn and tattered, but he recognizes that even if he cannot escape his distress by his own strength he can turn to God who always hears our plea: "du aller Not ErhdJrer" (1. 1). Christ is forever dependable in delivering us from our trials, which is clarified in the scriptural image of the Paschal Lamb and God's perpetual offer of Love and sal­ vation. The poem thus enriches the speaker's faith by ex­ amining it and in hyperbolic fashion probing its nadir, and then by securing it through human and divine willingness. It is a rigorous inner process that disciplines the mind and soul and leads to a new devout relationship with God. 237

Ich begehre aufgelflst u. s. w . Ach schau, o Himmel doch, wie hart ich bin gebunden, von deiner Schwester hier, der ungerechten Welt, die aber nicht bei dir als eine Schwester h£lt, indem sie stets verirrt, was du hast wiederfunden. 5 Sie spannt die Seelen ein, die ledig filr dir stunden, selbst Ursach ihres Jochs. Tritt vor das, was sie stellt, bis dass der schwache Geist in ihre Stricke ffillt. Da liegt, da zappelt er, durch sich selbst (iberwunden. Ich kenn* und kan sie doch, die falsche, nicht verneiden £read: vernichtenj. 10 Ich fiihle meinen Zwang und muss ihn willig leiden, wo Zwang auch Willen hat. 0 Heiland mach mich frei! Ich bin es, der ich mich auch selbsten also binde. Mach, dass ich los von mir bei dir noch heut empfinde, was ungebunden sein fiir eine Freiheit sell (pp. i+46-47) The internal plan of this meditation entails a move ment from the general to the particular. This type of structure is a part of Fleming's purpose to describe a sinner's alineation from God in a general sense and to narrow the focus to a particular sinner, the poem's speaker. The best method to approach the subject matter and the developmental divisions of this sonnet is a stanza by stanza analysis. 238

"Ach schau" (1. 1). The speaker pleads for witness to his testimony of guilt, and he indeed provides a penetra­ ting portrayal of the sin that has entrapped him and all mankind. The first quartet describes a corrupted world that becomes a hostile force threatening man's spiritual well-being. The perversion is completed in the ruined familial associations of lines 2 - 4 which describe the world as a sister who violates the Divine Plan and who confuses and misleads man. This world had already once been redeemed, "wiederfunden" (1. 4), but the fruits of Heaven's conciliatory gesture have long been forgotten, and ungrateful man is again in need of deliverance: Ach schau . . . wie hart ich bin gebunden von . . . der ungerechten Welt. (11. 1-2) The first quartet generally describes the break between man and God, and the next four lines form a second unit in which the poet's imagination vividly brings the committing of sin before the mind's eye. The world as temptress dominates our souls completely; we are strapped in, yoked, and trapped, and the image of the netted soul thrashing itself to exhaustion and submission completes the picture. This quartet thus portrays man as easy prey - - a brutishly stupid animal who is easily subjugated. It is of importance that Fleming also stresses ethical stan­ dards, for he recognizes that man wilfully indulges these 239 occasions of sin. The speaker points out that souls are initially free agents, "... die ledig filr j^GottJstunden" (1. 5), and that the individual carries the guilt for his soul's ruin: "selbst Ursach ihres Jochs" (1. 6), "der schwache Geist" (1. 7), and "durch sich selbst ilberwunden" (1. 8). Ultimately it is not the temptations of the world, but man himself who carries the blame. The first tercet develops further the idea that man is his own obstacle, and introduces the personal tone of the speaker's description of his willful errors of Judge­ ment. In line 9 he states that he recognizes these snares of temptation, but succumbs each time. His conscience is thus in order and senses the danger, yet in spite of this he willfully chooses to sin. This is the personal mani­ festation of the image in the preceding quartet: "da liegt, da zappelt er, durch sich selbst ftberwunden" (1. 8). The first line of the concluding tercet demonstrates how this poem moves from the general statement of line 1, "ich bin gebunden", to the particular insight of line 12, "ich binde mich selbst". The theme of this meditation is now fully developed: man, the sinner, is In an "impossi­ ble" situation and is unable to extract himself without Christ's help. This is an insight into a critical situa­ tion, and the quietist's solution, which is stated in the title, "ich begehre aufgelflst", is now expanded in the 240

epigrammatic conclusion to the sonnet: Mach, dass Ich los von mir bei dir noch heut empfinde, was ungebunden sein fUr eine Freiheit seiJ (1. 13-14) The understanding of this poem as a meditation is furthered by a comparison to Johann Arndt's handling of the same theme. In the following excerpt from the prayer Urn Welsheit Arndts speaker is just as hopelessly sinful as Fleming’s, yet the former's praying voice is still able to retain some dignity and self-determination if Christ assists. Lehre mich auch alle Geister prttfen und unterscheiden, die RathschlSge urtheilen, dass ich mdge entfliehen den Stricken des Teufels . . . und den Netzen des Irrthums . . . dass ich In alien Dingen dich fdrchte, denn das ist die Wurzel und Anfang der Weisheit; dass ich mich die Eitelkeit und Ehre dieser Welt nicht lasse betrftgen, und dass ich in alien Dingen mtfge erkennen, was recht und gut ist. (I, 14) Arndt piously and earnestly approaches Christ In words, whereas Fleming’s thinking soul sternly dwells on an "impossible" situation in his thoughts. Fleming's version develops the idea of alienation until a coming to terms is out of the question, and proceeds from this debilitating awareness to a complete surrender. It does not communi­ cate with God as a prayer might, and is more an exercise that perceives and presents a single theological issue, our sinfulness, and creates motions within the spirit to 241 seek a new relationship with God.

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The text of two sonnets is given below even though this discussion is primarily concerned with Hephata. Both poems are based on the same biblical episode, which is also quoted below, yet each sonnet has a different tone: Er hat Alles wol gemacht is hymn-like in its celebration, whereas Hephata is private and meditative. In comparing the original with these two poetic compositions patterned upon it, we can trace the curve of Fleming’s mind as he comes to fashion the meditative reflexes in Hepatha. Und er nam in von dem Volck besonders, und legete im die Finger in die Ohren, und spuetzet, und rueret seine Zunge,/ und sahe auff gen Himel, seufftzet, und sprach zu ini, Hephetha, das ist, thu dich auff./ Und als bald thaten sich seine ohren auff, und das band seiner zungen ward los, und redet recht./ Und er verbot inen, sie soltens niemand sagen. Je mehr er aber verbot, je mehr sie es ausbreiteten,/ und wunderten sich uber die mass, und sprachen, Er hat alles wol gemacht, die Tauben macht er hoerend, und' die Sprachlosen redend. (Mark 7:33-37; italics added)

Er hat Alles wol gemacht Ja mehr als wol gemacht! Nicht Tauben nur und Blinden und was ein kranker Leib fftr Mangel haben kan, hilft dieser Wunder-Arzt. Es trifft was Hflhers an, als ein nattirlichs Weh, die Glieder zu entbinden, 242

5 ja mehr auch als den Tod. Der Staar der blinden Silnden, das Band der tauben Lust, der Hoffart stummer Wahn wird sonst durch Keinen nicht, als diesen, abgetan. Kein Leibarzt wird sich so zu heilen unterwinden. die Seele, die ist krank. Dem Geiste wird vergeben, 10 er trinkt den Kelch f£tr uns, stirbt selbst fiir unser Leben, zerbricht der Htfllen Burg und was den Tod verwacht, schleusst unser* Gr&ber auf, wird selbst die Himmelsleiter, ja, selbst der Himmel gar. Ruft lSuter, rufet weiter: Er, er hat Alles wol und mehr als wol gemachtI (p. 451)

Hephata Ach! sprich es auch zu mir, dein krSftigs: Tu dich auf! Ach! sprich es auch zu mir. Denn mir auch sind verschlossen Ohr, Augen und der Mund. Viel Zeit ist hin verflossen, dass ich so elend bin. Die Welt hat viel zu Kauf. 5 Ich folge, was sie rSt und werd nur Srger drauf. So lebt mein kranker Leib mit seinem Hausgenossen, zu allem Werke lass, zu allem Tun verdrossen, auf ein Ding nur beherzt, zu enden seinen Lauf , Ists mflglich, dass mir noch auf dieser bdsen Erden, 10 o Arzt, durch deine Hand soil ausgeholfen werden, so zeuch mich nicht mehr auf. Hilf diesem (tbel ao. Him mein Beschweren hin, nach dem mein Geist so wacht. 243

Tust du’s, so soil dein Lob auch rufen aus mein Grab: Der Alles raachet wol. hat mirs auch wol gemacht! (p. 451) The difference in syntactic structure in these two poems is a key to the distinctness in each rendering of the theme of Christ’s power to heal. Er hat Alles wol gemacht is a commentary on the Christian meanings contained in the biblical episode, and its musing sentences easily flow across stanza limits without an architectural structure that builds to an intellectual pointe. It is primarily concerned with celebration in its explications and promises. In contrast, in the sentences and verses of Hephata we observe the rigorous divisions of a "classical" sonnet. Each quartet and tercet composes a unit that states a propo­ sition, or raises a question, or invokes, and builds to the aspiration in the concluding tercet — all as a private intellectual reaction to the original Word. A second revealing structural feature lies in the substitution of Kreuzreim for Paarreim in the final four lines of Hephata. This change distinguishes this sonnet from Er hat Alles wol gemacht since these concluding, be­ seeching lines attempt to resolve the problem reflected upon in the preceding ten lines. Since they drive home the thoughts of this poem they are bound together and highlighted as a unit, which is a technique not employed 244

In Er hat Alles wol gemacht considering its narrative and explicative nature. This view of the poet at work pictures Fleming as concerned with a Joyous public utterance in Er hat Alles wol gemacht. In Hephata the same report of a miracle per­ formed before the multitude penetrates the speaker's thoughts. In his mind his own experience reacts with the objective substance introduced through the Word, and he produces a poem that fuses intellect and emotion. The speaker turns over these blended details in his mind, and his poetic statement substitutes some of his own particu­ lars for the generalities found in Er hat Alles wol gemacht. Hephata is a self-study that is not public and Joyous, but is a spiritual exercise that brings the speaker's mind to bear on the scriptural pledge to heal the afflicted believer and thus attempt to improve the speaker's relation­ ship with God.

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Contemplations The preceding meditative pieces are characterized as poetry of the mind In that they are exercises for the spirit intended to revive the awareness of certain truths and instill a new devoutness. The following contemplative sonnets are also poetry of the mind, but in the sense that 2i*5 the mind is a private arena in which the thinking speaker grapples with complicated and contradictory articles of faith as well as the puzzles in his own soul. The preceding poems cultivate and reinforce doctrinal truths* but in the following discussions these same Christian truths consti­ tute a problem, since their formulas often entail confus­ ing and paradoxical equations which are hard to digest intellectually. These poems contemplate particular doc­ trinal notions and pursue a better understanding of these truths. This is not to say that the poet dissects these articles of faith as an atheist might who is determined to render the abundantly paradoxical Christian mysteries meaningless and irrelevant; it is rather that the contem­ plative speaker attempts to vindicate rationally theologi­ cal issues which he fully supports even though they are amply confusing. He simply attempts to perceive his rela­ tionship with God intellectually. Both the meditative and contemplative sonnets in this chapter are composed of thoughts, but instead of expressing perceptions, resolutions, and petitions the contemplative sonnets investigate, analyze, and measure. The speaker in the following poems does not generally engage in a collo­ quy with God, and often addresses himself as he applies his intellect to increase his understanding. And when he does address the Deity it is not a plea for external help 246 to annihilate the sinful self and be absorbed by God, but a request for a more perfect apprehension of Divine Mysteries. Ultimately the contemplative speaker finds new roots of meaning and devoutness j'ust as the meditative speaker, but here the path leads through the privacy of the mind and engages only the speaker's inner resources.

Auf das Nachtmal des Herrn Das hohe Wundermal, da selbst der Wirt wird gessen, diss Brot, der Wein; nicht so: der Leib, diss Blut, das so viel an gesunden Kranken tut; das tote Lebende fttr Tod zum Leben essen, 5 das neue Testament, der letzte Wille dessen, der menschlich starb, nun gdJttlich lebt und Hut fdr diese h<, so heissen Gottes Gut, und was? Wie kan ein Mensch die Gflttlichkeit ermessen? Hinweg, Vernunft, du kluge T$rin duf 10 Weg, weiser Wahn, halt Ohr und Augen zu. Die ungelehrten sind hier die gelehrten Kflpfe. Pfand meines Heils, ich komme mit Begier zu deiner Kost und nehme sie zu mir, dass mein Tod in dir sterb1 und ich dein Leben sch6pfe. (p. 445) The title states the topic to be contemplated, and the poem reaches into the core of the Eucharistic mystery to arrive at an acceptable linguistic representation. The attempt to define the nature of this sacrament begins with the analogies of the first line and continues through 247 the octet. In the first quartet the mystery of transub- stantlation is described in terms of its adjuncts and effects: we, the guests, partake of the Host Himself, natural objects become transfigured, the spiritually sick are healed, and the living dead, the sinners, are given sustenance; in short, the sacrament is described in its concept and function. The contemplation continues in its process of definition and flows across the end of line 4 into the second quartet, in which the speaker postu­ lates the intensity and endurance of Christ's redemptive, love. Then, in the midst of this elucidation of Divine Love as embodied in the Eucharist the curve of the speaker's contemplation is unexpectedly broken: "und was? Wie kan ein Mensch die GdJttlichkeit ermessen?" (1. 8). This is a critical question, for in a logical sense the paradoxical nature of much of the explanation in the octet simply does not conform to the demands of logical assess­ ment implied in the verb "ermessen" (1. 8). In spite of all the elucidative activity in the first seven lines this interrupting voice still finds that it is in no better position to comprehend the Sacrament of Communion. It becomes clear that the faculty of reason within the speaker has failed, and the criticism which begins in the tercet is perhaps to be expected in that the divinity in this paradoxical rite cannot be known. But It can be 248 approximated through the poem's analogies; the Eucharist is a mystery composed of the most intensely paradoxical com­ ponents, and it either stands as a paradox, or it does not stand at all. Its representation in paradoxical analogies is therefore the best Christians can hope for. In these matters of faith reason is a "kluge Tfirin" (1. 9) and "wei'ser Wahn" (1. 10), an unwanted complication, and the speaker dispatches this faculty brusquely: "Weg, . . . halt Ohr und Augen zu" (1. 10). In the octet the attempts at illuminating the Eucharist as a fundament of Christianity did not arrive at an ever sharper, neater analogy of its divine essence, but stressed the dualities implied in this rite. Logic is not the way to comprehend this theological issue, for there is only one proper method to approach this mystery: "die ungelehrten sind hier die gelehrten K$pfe" (1. 11). Thus, the tercet affirms a non-logical approach to the contradictions in this contemplation, for only "ungelehrte K$pfe", that is, the faithful, can vindicate the truth in this sacrament. In the final tercet the mind is no longer active in terms of "Vernunft". In these lines the first "ich" of the poem appears as one of the "ungelehrte Kdpfe" and enthusiastically embraces Christ: "ich komme mit Begier" (11. 12). With this personal tone the speaker readily accepts the paradox of the mystery as it was originally 249 stated. This sonnet thus expends considerable poetic energy in its descriptive process, but for all its intel­ lectual delineation it ultimately relies on impassioned faith, "Begier" 1. 12, to comprehend the issue. This contemplation, a monologue, attempts to make "sense" out of this central rite, but the final resolution is not so much a matter of understanding as it is a combination of under­ standing and faith.

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Gehe von mir aus, ich bin ein stindiger Mensch Soltst du, Allwissender, nicht meinen Zustand wissen? Mich hat der erste Tod dem andern zugefflhrt. Das sch&ne Bild ist weg, mit dem ich war geziert, der erste fremde Fall hat mich auch umgerissen, 5 der H

This sonnet has a three-part structure. In the first segment the rhetorical question of line 1 introduces the intent of the octet to describe to God the speaker's spiritual condition. Following this portrayal of the violation of his once pure soul, a second, reflective phrase begins in the first tercet as the poetic "i" attempts to understand the theological fact that Christ always forgives, no matter how black the soul. Then, in the second tercet the need to comprehend is replaced by agreement and reconciliation. The octet elaborates the statement contained in the title: namely the speaker's acknowledgement of his sinful condition. Following the present tense of the introduc­ tory rhetorical question the speaker shifts to the preterite as he describes how his present hopeless state was achieved. In lines 2 - 5 his memory resorts to analogies to describe the loss of innocence, and each metaphor has a functional role in picturing original sin and the soul's continuing spiritual decay. The images in these lines do not ornament or amplify, but are part of the speaker's attempt to explain and ultimately to com­ prehend. Then, the use of the preterite tense ends in line 5 as the speaker comes to consider his present anxiety. He bemoans his grim inner confusion and helplessness which 251 have resulted from his fall. In contemplating his state the speaker is pained to have disfigured the beauty of his soul, once a mirror of Christ's perfection, and distressed because he persists in his misdeeds: . . . mein schwacher Geist ...... t&glich noch gebiert, was ich beweinen muss mit starken Tr&nengilssen. (11. 6-8) This insight into his abohrrent condition provides the base for the reflective reactions which begin in line 9. In this phase the speaker confronts Christ's never- failing love. This knowledge of the readiness of Christ's mercy toward the contrite contrasts with the broken-down misery of the poetic "i" in the octet. In fact, mercy itself becomes the topic of contemplation, for the ques­ tion of "how" Christ can remain all-forgiving baffles the speaker. The categories of "Heiligkeit" and "Silnde" (1. 10), divine love and spiritual death, are mutually exclusive entities and the speaker yearns to understand how Christ's love can combine them. All of the self-study in the octet could lead the speaker to expect rejection, but Christ Instead forbears punishment. Knowing he is unworthy, and yet loved by God he calls out, "AchJ dass ich das versttinde!" (1. 11) The final tercet is a reinstatement of a sound rela­ tionship between the speaker and God. In these lines the 252 speaker surrenders his will and comes to rest in a serene and secure awareness of Christ*s merciful embrace. This is not an insight produced in the logical thrust of the poem, because the presentation of facts in the octet would tend to rule out reconciliation. Christ and this sinner are worlds apart, yet His grace bridges the gap. It is beyond this sinner's ken to know why Christ does this, and at the closing it really does not matter as the speaker accepts the divine offer even though he has failed to comprehend it.

Also hat Gott die Welt geliebet u. s. w . Ists mttglich, dass der Hass auch kan geliebet sein? Ja, Liebe, sonst war Nichts, an dem du kdntest weisen, wie stark dein Feuer sei, als an dem kalten Eisen der ausgestSlten Welt. Du, hflchster Sonnenschein, 5 wirfst deiner Stralen Glut in unser Eis herein, machst Tag aus unsrer Nacht. Und was noch mehr zu preisen, du wirst des Armuts Schatz, des Hungers siisse Speisen, o Todesgift und Tod, o wahrer Freund der Feinde, 10 o Meister, der du auch deln Werk dir machst zum Freunde, wirst deiner Diener Knecht, wirst deiner Tochter Kind. Was tu ich, dass ich doch den Abgrund will ergrilndenJ 253

Ich weiss so wenig mich in dieses Tun zu finden, so viel du h$her bist, als alle Menschen sind. (p. ^5 0 ) This sonnet is based upon the following biblical passage: Also hat Gott die Welt geliebet, das er seinen eingebornen Son gab, Auff das alle die an ihm glauben, nicht verloren werden, sondern das ewige Leben haben. (John 3:16) The'theme of Redemption presents a puzzle as the speaker attempts to decipher the action of God toward man while man’s action toward God seems so undeserving. Indeed, it is inexplicable that God should reach toward us with love when we are arrogant and ungrateful, and even hateful as the speaker states in line 1. As ineffable as it is, the speaker nevertheless undertakes in his contem­ plation to describe the relationship between God and man and thereby explicate the fundamental issue of Christian experience as it is stated in the poem’s title and John 3.*16. Fleming thus attempts to elucidate the revealed Word with the means of the poetic word. With this poem's attempt to define through imagery in mind, we discern two different image-clusters in the octet, each group adhering to a uniform pattern of opera­ tion. The first series of related images includes those in lines 2 - 8, in which the speaker delineates the qual­ ities of God and man as they relate to each other. Man, 254 the world, is sinful, and is identified as "Hass”, "kaltes Eisen", "eine ausgest<e Welt", "Eis", "Nacht", "Armut", and "Hunger". These images render the abstrac­ tions and qualities of man's heart more tangible, and many of them such as ice, cold iron, and night give an outright sensuous, perceivable dimension as they define through analogy.' Yet this is only half of the image pattern in lines 2-8, for the speaker contrasts each of the above quali­ ties with an associational value that is its opposite: "Liebe", "Feuer", "Sonnenschein", "Glut", "Tag", "Schatz", and "Speisen". These are analogies for the divine attri­ butes which cancel every one of the meanings imputed to sinful man, for His goodness provides heat, light, and sustenance to free our hearts from cold, dark, and depri­ vation. The contemplative mind thus produces metaphors to describe the workings of divine love, which is a process of eliminating sin through ever-flowing grace. In our relationship with God we are unworthy and would be lost without His intervention, and His love is all the more wondrous precisely because it embraces that which is con­ trary to it. A second cluster of images begins in the second half of line 8 and includes the first tercet. These lines con­ tinue to describe and elucidate, but do not, as the preced- 255 ing lines, focus on the oppositeness between God and man, and instead confront additional implications of meaning in the Redemptive Act. Not Just the oppositeness, but also the paradoxical nature expressed in this mystery becomes clear when the speaker addresses God as: "Tod des Todes", "Freund der Feinde", "Knecht deiner Diener", and "Kind deiner Tochter". Such phrasings fuse contradictory lin­ guistic facets and are literal in terms of the Word. This cluster of images, which are related in their pattern of stressing the paradoxical, thus bring the speaker to rest squarely at the core of this paradoxical mystery itself. Yet in the final tercet the speaker suddenly declares that the poetic activity has been unequal to its task of fathoming these divine meanings. The poetic "I" almost admits an intellectual superbia in trying to understand: "Was tu ich, dass ich den Abgrund will ergrilnden" (1. 12). In the framework of this sonnet the speaker’s mind has attempted to render the paradoxical mystery of the Divine Word through the poetic word, yet in his pursuit of under­ standing the speaker reels back at the realization that God is far beyond apprehension. This mystery exhausts his meager powers, and the final insight of the poem entails the speaker’s awareness of the incredible gap between humanness and divinity: V 256

Ich weiss so wenig mich in dieses Tun zu finden, so viel du hflher bist, als alle Menschen sind. (11. 13-1*0 Ultimately, an understanding and appreciation of the opera­ tions implied in the Sacrifice are a matter of acquiescence in faith.61

W U 'TRrU V U V v « u w V - U W M - U

The following poem is the final example of a contem­ plative sonnet which diligently applies the intellect in an effort to understand. Dass Alles eitel sei Was, sprichst du, ist es wol, darauf du dich bemdhst? Kunst, Ehre, Reichtum, Lust, die L&ften gleich und Gtlssen mit uns selbst schiessen hin? Ich auch, Freund, bin geflissen auf eben diesen Sinn, auf den du weislich siehst. 5 Ich weiss es mehr als wol, dass Alles eitel ist. Wie aber kiJmmt es doch, dass wider unser Wissen wir etwas, das nicht ist, doch schiJne heissen milssen, dass der ein Anders tut, ein Anders ihm erliest? In Unvollkommenheit vollkommen werden wolien, 10 das machet unsern Sinn auf Neues so geschwollen, erfilllet auf den Schein, am leichten Winde schwer, an vollem Mangel reich. Wer kan von Herzen sagen: 257

Ich bin vergnilgt in mir, weiss weder Lust noch KLagen. Wei eitel Alles ist, der Mensch ist eitel mehrl (p. 446) The speaker describes his perplexity at the dedication to vain activities such as "Kunst", "Ehre", ’'Reichtum", and "Lust", even though one is aware of their transi­ tory value. This "nevertheless" in man's persistence in embracing these worldly pursuits confounds the speaker, and it is this activity amidst our inadequacies and in­ consistencies — "in Unvollkommenheit vollkommen werden wollen" (1 . 9 ) — which is contemplated in the poem. Yet there is a twist in this sonnet's scrutiny of this-worldly striving. Many Baroque poems which develop the topos of vanitas mundi culminate in an absolute sense of contemptus mundi.62 Pass Alles eitel sel may identify man's meaningless and vain activities, yet it neither con­ demns in an amplified voice, nor does it tremble and insist upon a Weltabkehr in anticipation of the Judgement. In fact, the emphasis is not on the vanitas topos as such, but on man’s predictable reaction to the topos; that is, he lives as if mutability and brevity were not facts of his exis­ tence. The poem thus contemplates man's consciousness which grasps at this world’s meanings and truths and refuses to forfeit these achievements even If they are vain and perhaps dangerous to his soul. In this sonnet the speaker 258 does not seek to guide toward devotion and reconciliation. He Instead measures and analyzes, and his final comment, "wie eitel Alles ist, der Mensch ist eitel mehr" (1. 14), is an insight achieved within the framework of the poem, and marks the speaker's successful attempt to clarify and increase his level of understanding of himself. The clarifying process of this self-study contrasts with the aims of the meditative poems discussed earlier which do not attempt to render an issue more intelligible, but seek to provide guidance in regards to a particular Christian notion. The meditative sonnets are spiritual discourses which seek a particular effect, whereas the con­ templative poems take the measure of Christian truths. To clarify or to guide; these are the respective intents of the Fleming sonnets examined in this chapter.

M U M U O I* V W w U U 1> A# U U %# W.

SUMMARY The preceding investigations do not lay claim to being exhaustive analyses of individual 'texts, but have instead attempted to describe how Fleming variously manifests the Lutheran heritage. The observations of this chapter will now be collated into an overview of Fleming's range as a religious poet. 259

The poems discussed are understood only in terms of their extra-personal and extra-aesthetic Protestant impli­ cations, which verifies the claim of the survey of critical opinion in the introduction to this chapter: that seven­ teenth century religious poetry is suffused with Lutheran dogma and Scripture. Cysarz’ statement that Fleming is a Lutheran epigone, a “Lutherspross", is thereby corrobo­ rated. In describing the manner in which Fleming implements this heritage, three general types of poetic voice were delineated: preaching and instructing (the Psalter), believing (poems built on doctrinal truths), and praying (meditations and contemplations). In each case the words spoken are decidedly Protestant. In the preaching mode the keynote is instruction. Fleming recognized, just as Luther did, the basic Christian lessons in the Psalter and stressed their value to teach faith, courage and hope. The discussions of these versifi­ cations emphasized Fleming's additions which enhanced the mental-picturing of the Word through metaphor. The poet also amplified and dramatized the original material. Yet even these measures of poetic individuality were undertaken solely to more effectively and sententiously present the biblical lesson. 260

In the second section, poems such as Andacht and Gedanken flber der Zelt were described as conscious liter­ ary expressions. Yet this consciousness is very much determined by Lutheran and biblical fact. The poems do not pursue new truths and contact with God, and are void of independent psychological and emotional reactions. In­ stead they have a Lutheran core charged with potential poetic energy, and each poem traces some of the threads of implication spun at this center. The dual authority, Luther and the Bible, present themes as fragments which the poet then arranges into a new aesthetic, yet pious pattern. Hence, the poet exercises aesthetic freedom in the way he assembles these fragments, yet the original material is in no way altered by the filter of individual experience. In that the poet adheres to his authoritative source, his writings in this section are "about religion", and the mode of speech and thought is "believing". The final discussions center on the sonnets in which the speaker concentrates the powers of the intellect to create a more perfect Christian awareness. In the medita­ tive mode the mind Is applied to uphold convictions and provide guidance; in the contemplative mode the curious intellect undertakes to explain certain notions. Whatever the topic of these poems may be, the goal of these inner 261 discourses is a more disciplined, inspired, and enlightened faith. All of these poems are committed to a tradition which is preoccupied with the spiritual problems of life, death, and eternity, and there is little self-determination in an aesthetic sense. This is not to suggest that this heritage was a burden, for the poet readily engages and upholds it. It is rather the case that a single determinable spirit imbues all of Fleming's art as discussed, and the poet easily operates within the range defined by traditional parameters and limits. NOTES

The following critics examine Fleming’s lyric poetry against its historical surroundings, yet each omits the religious poems in any judgement of Fleming’s overall poetic significance in the Baroque period: Paul Beckmann, Formgreschichte der deutschen Dichtung (Darmstadt, 1973)» pp. 5+07-14; Gflnther Mdller, Geschichte des deutschen Liedes (Darmstadt, 1959)s PP« 71-75; Richard Newald, Geschichte der deutschen Literatur, 4th. ed., Vol. V (Munich, i960), pp. 167-90.

2 Robert Ambacher, Paul Fleming and ’Erlebnlsdlchtung' (diss. Rutgers, 1972), p. 75.

3 Friedrich-Wilhelm Wentzlaff-Eggebert, Das Problem des Todes in der deutschen Lyrik des 17. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig, 1931), p.&3.

^ Herbert Cysarz, Deutsche Barockdichtung (Leipzig, 1924), p. 133.

9 See the biographical sketch in Paul Flemings Deutsche Gedichte, ed. J. M. Lappenberg, Vol. II (Darmstadt, 1955), pp. 852-5 8 . Also see Albrecht Sch6ne, Sakularisation als sprachbildende Kraft (Gottingen, 1968), p'p". l’6ff9 SchSne describes the sociological, literary historical, and even psychological ramifications in the relationship between a clerical father and a poetic-minded son.

^ Beckmann, op. clt.

^ Beckmann, pp. 319_20, 8 Bflckmann, p. 332.

9 Bflckmann, p. 330.

Hugo Max, ’’Martin Opitz als geistlicher Dichter" in BeitrSge zur neueren Literaturgeschichte, ed.Max von Waldberg, Heft XVII (Heidelberg, 1931). 262 263

11 Max, p. 4.

12 Max, p. 15.

-*-3 M&Ller, op, clt.

Mtiller, p. 143.

Marvin Schindler, The sonnets of Andreas Gryphius: Use of the Poetic Word in the Seventeenth Century (Gaines­ ville, Florida, 1971): Hans-Henrik Krummacher, "Andreas Gryphius und Johann Arndt: Zutn Verst&ndnis der ’Sonn und Feiertags-Sonette1 ", in Formenwandel: Festschrift ftir Paul Bflckmann (Hamburg, 19b4).

^ Roland Bainton, Here I Stand. A Life of Martin Luther (New York, 1950). p. 345. " 17 Paul Merker and Wolfgang Stammler, Reallexikon der deutschen Literaturgeschichte, 2nd. ed. Vol. II (Berlin, 1958), p. 735.

18 Mtiller, p. 33.

Merker and Stammler, Vol. II, p. 735*

2^ It is possible to include Das Gebet Manasse in this collection, because its structure of invocation, confession, and praise, and its personal and penitential tone make it psalm-like. It is this similarity in composition which caused Fleming to render it with the 7 original Busspsalmen. Therefore, Fleming’s Psalter contains 8 Psalms, and this study will discuss Das Gebet Manasse as such. Note that in Merker and Stammler, op. cit.. Vol. II, p. 735* it is erroneously stated in the article on Psalmendlchtung that Fleming’s version contains 10 Psalms. Pi Paul Flemings Deutsche Gedichte, ed. J. M. Lappen-. berg (Darmstadt, 1955). All' citationsof entire poems or single lines will refer to volume I of this edition, and will be indicated in my text by page and line number.

22 Beckmann, p. 330. 264

Max, p. 4.

Beckmann, pp. 319-20.

Roy Pascal, German Literature In the sixteenth and and seventeenth Centuries "(London. 1968), pp. bl-82. In their entirety Pascal's comments on this problem are illumination: Masen, the Jesuit, insists that the only poetry permissible is religious; Birken states 'Gottesfurcht1 is the purpose of poetry and in­ structs writers to take their themes from the Bible. Herdegen . . . Justifies pastorals on the grounds that Christ is the Good Shepherd. All the writers wrote religious poetry, and many regretted publicly the secular poetry to which in their youth they had been tempted (Rist, Zesen). A sharp conflict of conscience arose over the use of the names of pagan gods and goddesses. Harsdiirffer was one of the few who supported Opitz' rather easy-going attitude, and Buchner Justified their use as an attractive disguise for religious and moral instruc­ tion — in his own words, such devices 'gild the pill'. Zesen rendered the gods harmless by using abstract equivalents, 'Liebinne' for 'Venus', etc. But Rist and Omeis call it sinful to write odes to gods, Birken forbids themes from classical anti­ quity, and Hadewig is completely intolerant of the practice.

Beckmann, p. 329.

As cited by Beckmann, p. 329.

Andreas Gryphius: Gesamtausgabe der deutsch- sprachigen Werke, ed. Marian Szyrocki and Hugh Powell, Vol." II (Tubingen, 1963ff.), p. 98.

All Bible quotations are taken from Dr. Martin Luthers Werke. Krltische Gesamtausgabe (Weimar, lbb3 ff.).

30 See Eva Ddrrenfeld, Paul Fleming und Johann Christian Gunther: Motive, Themen, Formen (diss. Tubingen, l9fc3)> pp. 38f£.' and TBpff7 for a description of Fleming's applica­ tion of Opitz’ poetic rules. 265

,<*■ 31 Martin Opitz: Geistliche Poemata, ed. Erich Trunz (Tubingen, 19bfc), p. 201.

J•30 For an enlarged and effective rendering of this vision of the dark night of the soul, see Gryphius' time-of-day sonnet Mitternacht. 33 See Luther's Works, ed. Jaroslav Pelikan, Vol. 13 (St. Louis, 195b), p. £2 . Qii - Dr. Martin Luthers Werke. Krltische Gesamtausgabe. Vol. 12, p. 3 .

35 in these verses this study recognizes an error in the verse numbering used in the Lappenberg version of Das Gebet Manasse. This error is corrected in my text and is verifiable by matching the units of thought and expres­ sion in the Fleming version with the equivalent unit in the Bible.

36 Dr. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 10, p. 9 9 .

37 p. 103.

3® As a coda to these discussions on Fleming's didac­ ticism this footnote adds three of Fleming's epigrams which the poet translated from the Latin originals of his friend Johan Verbesius. They are compressed, pointed admonitions. Soil ich mit dem Schwerte drein schlagen? Und du bist Petrus Art!, mein Sinn.' Wenn man dich dr&nget, so fragst du zornig stracks: wie soil ich schlagen drein? Nein, neinl Das gehet nicht, Steh' aus, was Gott verhSnget.' Der hat sich wol ger&cht, wer kan gedilltig sein. (p. 222) Solst du dem Hohenpriester also antworten? Du aber, solst du so zum Hohenpriester sagen? Du aber, solst du so den hdchsten Priester schlagen? (p . 222) 2 66

Mein Reich ist nicht von dannen Diss Reich ist in der Welt und doch nicht von der Welt. Schau', Weltkind, dass die Welt dir nicht zu sehr gef&llt! (p. 222)

39 Hans Pyritz, Paul Fleming Liebeslyrik (Gflttingen, 1963)? pp. 300-01; Dflrrenfeld, op. cit., pp. 64-6 7 .

Dflrrenfeld, p. 6 5 .

^ Dilrrenfeld, p. 6 7 .

Dttrrenfeld, pp. 65-66.

^3 Newald, p. 138

^ Bdckmann, pp. 329-3*+.

^ Krummacher, op. cit., pp. 130-3*+ (including "Anmerkung" #3), describes Arndt’s strong influence on Andreas Gryphius, Johann Hermann, Paul Gerhardt, and Johann Rist.

^ Johann Arndt's Vier Bttcher vom wahren Chrlstentum nebst desselben Paradies-G&rtleih", ed. "Evangelischer Bticber-Verein" (Berlin, IS5?). The prayers in Arndt's Paradies-G&rtlein are divided into five classes and are numbered consecutively within each class. All Arndt quotes in my text are from this edition and will be referenced by class and number: for example (II, 11), i.e. the second class, eleventh prayer.

^ Paul Hankamer, Die Sprache (Bonn, 1927)* pp. 100, 189-90 (footnote 17). 2j.fi Bainton, p. 57.

^9 prom CherubInscher Wandersmann, quoted in Das Zeitalter des Barock, ed. Albrecht Schone (Munich, I968), p. 281.

3® The Dartmouth Bible, ed. Roy B. Chamberlin and Herman Feldman (Boston, 1950), p. 1058. 267

^ The Dartmouth Bible, p. 1102.

Dilrrenfeld, pp. 64-66, prefers not to acknowledge a mystical tone in this poem, be it "doctrinal15 and "sanctioned" or decidedly private. Even though she is aware of the similarity to Gal. 2:20, she instead focuses on the "Tod/ Leben" antithetic in Andacht, and finds nu­ merous corresponding phrasings in Fleming's secular poems and the Petrarchan tradition. She concludes that the key dialectic in Andacht is a Petrarchan convention which can degenerate into word-play and shallow gesturing. I contend rather that the poem is built upon a Christian antithetic, and is a serious statement in a Lutheran vein.

^ Erich Trunz, "Andreas Gryphius' Gedicht 'An die Sternen'", in Interpretationen: Deutsche Lyrlk von Weckherlin bis Benn", ed. Jost Schillemeit (Frankfurt, 1965)5 p. 2l; Wilhelm Vosskamp, Untersuchungen zur Zelt - und Geschlchtsauffassung im 17~ Jahrhundert bei Gryphius und Lohenstei'n (Bonn, 1967)5 PP. 90-96.

5^ See Gryphius's Abend, a sonnet in which the speaker is also aware of the inexorable movement of time, and in which the image "Rennebahn" is used to describe the hurtling of man toward death.

55 Hankamer, pp. 189-90 (footnote 17). 56 Dr. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, Vol. 14, pp. "70-71. 57 Beckmann, p. 323.

5^ As cited by BiJckmann, p. 331.

59 in describing these sonnets as spiritual exercises I am not suggesting that Fleming arranged the poems as a connected series in the manner of Francis de Sales or Ignatius of Loyola; see Louis Martz, The Poetry of Medita­ tion (New Haven, 1954), for a study of seventeenth century English poems which are arranged in sequences imitative of the Catholic models. Fleming's meditative sonnets do not progress through graded spiritual phases and do not aim for a collective effect. They are rather independent 268 meditative moments stimulated by the thought of the meditator’s spiritual malaise, and the seeking of a new relationship with God. These individual sonnets are not part of a general "pre-meditated" plan.

Prank Warnke, Versions of Baroque (New Haven, 1972), p. 135.

^ Paul Gerhardt also wrote a poem on this biblical theme titled Also Hat Gott Die Welt Gellebt, Dass Er Seinen Elngebornen Sohn Gab, to be found in: Paul Gerhardt. Dichtungen und Schriften, ed. Eberhard von Cranach- Sichart (Munich, 1957), pp. 72-6. The poem is too long to quote here, yet the reader is encouraged to compare the two pieces. In Gerhardt's poem there is none of the condensed intellectual probing discovered in Fleming. Instead there is only hymn-like elaboration (136 linesJ) and rhetorical intensification. 62 This evolving contemptus mundl is discovered in the following poems found in Edgar Hederer, Deutsche Dichtung des Barock (Munich, no date): Unglflcksellges Gef^ng'nls der Leidenschaften, anon., p . '3%'; Menschliches Elende, Gryphius, p. 9 9 ; Die Welt, Hofmannswaldau, p. 216 Umbschrift elnes Sarges, Lohenstein, p. 222. CONCLUSION

The investigations of these chapters attempt to enlarge the understanding of Fleming’s poetic range in an imitative and stylized literary environment. In order to arrive at this fuller comprehension of the techniques, substance, and external influences which characterize Fleming, numerous poems have been analyzed. The final meanings of the works examined entail invention as well as convention, and can be summarized in the following manner. In the first chapter I referred extensively to what seems to be the single source of most of Fleming’s specula­ tive borrowings, namely Paracelsus. Although commentators have recognized Paracelsian influences in Fleming, none of them has provided a comprehensive survey of these origins, and their translation into poetic formulas in Fleming's writings. In the teachings of Paracelsus, Fleming perceived principles which fuse universal sympathies and antipathies and establish constancy amidst inconstancy. Paracelsian conceptualizations of parallel macrocosmic and microcosmlc processes provided Fleming with the means to unify cosmic, terrestial, and human actions, and to tune the love experi­ ence to a Divine Harmony. These speculative currents of

269 270 thought induced a spiritual imperative in Fleming and pro­ vided a point of reference for the poet's own Weltanschauung. Not only do these ideas breathe intellectual life into many poems, but also control imagery and organization. The final synthesis described in this chapter is the poet's personalization of an extensive and unified base of specu­ lative ideas; this system then determines the poet's metaphysical view of the cosmos and human actions, espe­ cially love. It was the effort of chapter II to introduce a new terminology and point of view in order to reevaluate the poetic ideas and emphases in Fleming's non-Petrarchan love lyrics. It was acknowledged that the persona discussed in the love poems of chapter II Is very much concerned with his personal condition, but it was argued throughout that Pyritz1 descriptive words "pers8nlich", "Gefillhl", "eigener Ton", and "Bekenntnis" are inadequate. To be sure, these poems are decidedly independent, yet they are not as modern as they seem in terms of Erlebnisdlchtung; indeed, the communication of experience is not as important as the internalization and intellectualizatlon of that experience and the thorough analysis of the residual idea. Whereas the poems of chapter I describe a spiritual imperative, those in chapter II are motivated and organized by an implied spiritual imperative which pursues a vision of unity 271 in love. Metaphysical designs and tones are therefore formative in these poems, which are more adequately de­ scribed as mental operations rather than as expressions of emotion. Chapter III undertook to answer the question: in what manner and measure does Fleming approach, absorb and alter the Protestant tradition? In describing how the poet manifests this heritage, it became clear that the dual authority of Lutheran dogma and Scripture remained the determining influence. Yet it was also demonstrated that Protestant resources often appear in an original composite, and in other instances Fleming's religious poems constitute private and intellectual undertakings. The investigations of Fleming's relationship to this extra-personal system delineated various poetic voices, forms, ideas and emphases, but even the most independent and conscious expressions ultimately proved to be controlled by dogma, the Bible and the poet's ardent faith. The final view is an outstanding literary craftsman who easily operates within the range defined by traditional parameters and limits. These summaries make It clear that Fleming is adept at imitatlo, yet is also capable of lnventlo. Poetic style, structure and point of reference are very often affected by ascertainable external Influences, but it has been the special effort of these chapters to show that 272

Fleming did not mechanically translate these extra­ personal formulas into poetry. Instead, he blended personal intentions with metaphysical and religious im­ pulses to proclaim meanings more significant than the original context: this additional significance is the dimension of poetic "truth" which is a commingling of external idea, aesthetic word, and the poet's mind and soul. In numerous self-revealing love poems we discover a measure of independent expression, but conclude that for the "I" of these lyrical poems experience is secondary to analysis and awareness; even in these more personal and unique writings Fleming is not a radical innovator, for we can describe the antecedents which determine the tone, organization and point of reference in the poems. An appreciation of Fleming as discussed in this study therefore requires the reader to modulate between certain antinomies. For example, Fleming's writings must be read in terms of external influences even as they must be approached in terms of the entirety and coherence of in­ dividual poems. These works are not mechanical adaptations

of external creeds, yet they are also not the self- sufficient poetic statements of a fully self-revealing lyrical "i". Borrowed instruments and ideas may shape the exterior and interior of these poems, but it is a false critical method to merely seek the "cause" of these ✓ 273

literary pieces. Fleming's genius is therefore best understood if his writings are described as a weave of personalized and depersonalized elements and if the reader maintains a balanced approach in his analyses and evaluations. Fleming's sensitivities intermingle and interact with seventeenth century literary, intellectual and religious principles, and the final products of this reaction are the amalgams of convention and invention which have been described in these chapters. In the confluence of original and imitative tones observed in these discussions we can accept Fleming's poetic statements as a partial representation of his total vision. In chapter I Fleming's persona prescribes or de­ scribes the attainment of the abiding in Paracelsian terms. These poems are full of observation and interpretation with a vision of unity in mind. In the love poems of chapter II the persona strives for a perfection that inte­ grates the many into the One, but usually fails amidst great pathos. The religious poems of chapter III are also often characterized by directed movement, this time toward increased eschatological awareness and a sense of permanence in the soul's participation in the Divine. In reaching below the linguistic surface and delineating the aims and achievements of the poems in this manner, we are afforded a view into the concerns of the poet's innermost being. 274

In spite of the tangle of borrowed ideas and forms we can penetrate Fleming's consciousness and reveal the poet's intense activity in pursuit of perfection and the enduring in matters of religion and love. The total impression is a poet who crafts his lan­ guage with borrowed tools and materials, yet commits varying"measures of his own being to his poetic formula­ tions. This coherent structure of objective and subjective elements demonstrates that the Baroque is perhaps best described as a period of transition: poetry based on non­ personal principles gradually evolves into the more modern individual and inventive lyric expressions of the following century. To avoid distortion and to appreciate Fleming's poetic range it is therefore necessary to acknowledge a "degree" of external influence as well as a "degree" of individual expression: only in this manner can the reader assuredly recognize the coherence and relevance of each Fleming poem. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Alewyn, Richard. "Hans Pyritz -- Paul Flemings deutsche Liebeslyrik." Deutsche Barockforschung. Dokumenta- tion einer Epoche. Ed. Richard AlewynT Kdln: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1966, pp. 437-43. Ambacher, Robert. Paul Fleming and "Erlebnlsdichtung." Diss. Rutgers, 1972. Arndt, Johann. Johann Arndts Vier Bdcher vom wahren Chrlstentum nebst desselben Pa'radies-G&rtleln. Ed. Evangelischer Biicher-Verein. 6th ed. Berlin: In der Niederlage des Vereins, 1857. Bainton, Roland. Here I Stand. A Life of Martin Luther. New York: Abingdon, 1950. Bekker, Hugo. Andreas Gryphius: Poet between Epochs. Bern: H. Lang, 1973- Beller, Manfred. "Thema, Konvention und Sprache der mythologischen Ausdrucksformen in Paul Flemings Gedichten." Arcadia, V (1970), 157-89. Beckmann, Paul. Formgeschichte der deutschen Dlchtung. 194§; rpt. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1973. Colie, Rosalie. Paradoxia Epidemica. The Renaissance Tradition of Paradox. Princeton University Press,

19567 ‘ Copleston, Frederick. History of Philosophy. Vol. Ill, Pt. 2. Garden City, New York: Image Books, 1963- Curtius, Ernst Robert. Europffische Literatur und latelnisches Mlttelalter. Bern: Franke, 194-8. Cysarz, Herbert. Deutsche Barockdichtung. Leipzig: Haessel, 1924. Daiches, David. A Study of Literature. New York: Norton, 1964.

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The Dartmouth Bible. Ed. Roy B. Chamberlin and Herman Feldman. Boston: Riverside Press, 1950. Deutsche Dlchtung des Barock. Ed. Edgar Hederer. Munich: Hanser, n.d. Deutsche Dlchtung des Mlttelalters. Ed. Friedrich v. der Leyen. Frankfurt: Insel, 1962. Deutsche Lyrlk des Mlttelalters. Ed. Max Wehrli. Zurich: Manesse, 1955. Dftrrenfeld, Eva. Paul Fleming und Johann Christian Gflnther: Motive, Themen, Formen. Piss. Ttlb ingen,' 1963. Eliot, T. S. Selected Essays. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1932. Fleming, Paul. Paul Flemings Deutsche Gedichte. Ed. J. M. Lappenberg. 2 Vols. 1865; rpt'. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1965. Fricke, Gerhard. Die Bildlichkeit in der Dichtung des Andreas Gryphius. 1933; rpt. Darmstadt: wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1967. Gerhardt, Paul. Dlchtungen und Schriften. Ed. Eberhard von Cranach-Sichart. Munich: Verlag Paul Milller, 1957. Gillespie, Gerald. German Baroque Poetry. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1971. Gryphius, Andreas. Gesamtausgabe der deutschsprachlgen Werke. Ed. Marian Szyrocki and Hugh Powell. T(Td ingen: M. Niemeyer, 1964ff. Hankamer, Paul. Die Sprache. Ihr Begriff und ihre Deutung im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert. Bonn: F.Cohen, 1927. . Deutsche Gegenreformation und deutsches Barock. ^Dle deutsche' Literatur im Zeitraum des 17. Jahr- hundertsT Stuttgart: Metzler, 1935. Klein, Johannes. Geschlchte der deutschen Lyrik bis zum Ausgang des zweiten Weltkrleges. 2nd ed. Wiesbaden: F. Steiner, 1957. 277

Klotz, Volker. "Spiegel und Echo. Konvention und Individualit&t im Barock." Rezeption und Produktion zwischen 1570 und 1730: Festschrift ftir Gunther Weydt zum 65. Geburtstag. Ed. Wolfdietrich Rasch, Kans Geulen and Klaus Haberkaram. Bern: Franke, 1972. 93-119. Krummacher, Hans-Henrik. "Andreas Gryphius und Johann Arndt: Zum Verst&ndnis der 'Sonn und Feiertags- Sonette.1" Formenwandel: Festschrift fflr Paul Beckmann. Ed. Walter Mdller-Seidel and Wolfgang Preisendanz. Hamburg: Hoffman und Campe, 19o4. 116-37. Lewis, C. S. "Donne and Love Poetry in the Seventeenth Century." Seventeenth Century English Poetry. Ed. William R. Keast. Hew York: Oxford University Press, 1962, 92-110. Luther, Martin. Dr. Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische GesamtausgabeT Weimar: H. Bdhiau Verlag, Ibb3-l972. Luther, Martin. Luther's Works. Ed. Jaroslav Pelikan. St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1955-75. Martz, Louis L. The Poetry of Meditation. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1954-• Milch, Werner. "Deutsche Barocklyrik und *Metaphysical Poetry1" Trlvium, V (19^7), 65-73. Mtlller, Gunther. Geschichte des deutschen Lledes. 1925; rpt. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1959. Max, Hugo. "Martin Opitz als geistlicher Dichter." Beitr&ge zur neueren Literaturgeschichte. Ed. Max von Waldberg. Heft XVII. Heidelberg: Carl Winter Verlag, 1931. Merker, Paul and Stammler, Wolfgang. Reallexikon der deutschen Literatur. 2nd ed. Berlin: de Gruyter,

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