Hyperion Read online

  I went in. There sat the noble woman, extending her beautiful hand toward me – you come, she called, you come, my son! I should be angry at you, you have taken my child from me, have talked me out of all reason, and do what you crave and go away; but forgive him, you heavenly powers! if what he intends is wrong; and if he is right, O then do not hesitate to help the dear man! I wanted to speak, but just then Notara came in with the rest of our friends, and behind them Diotima.

  We were silent for a while. We honored the mourning love that was in us all, we feared elevating ourselves above it in speeches and proud thoughts. Finally, after a few cursory words, Diotima asked me to tell them something about Agis and Cleomenes; I had often named these great souls with fervent respect, and said that they were demigods as surely as Prometheus was, and that their battle with the destiny of Sparta was more heroic than any in the illustrious myths. The genius of these men was the sunset of the Greek day as Theseus and Homer its aurora.

  I told their story, and at the end we all felt stronger and more exalted.

  Happy is he, cried one of our friends, whose life alternates between joy of the heart and fresh battle.

  Yes! cried another, that is eternal youth, when enough powers are always at play and we fully sustain ourselves in pleasure and work.

  O I would like to go with you, Diotima cried to me.

  It is also good that you remain! I said. The priestess may not leave the temple. You preserve the holy flame, in silence you preserve the beautiful, so that I may find it again with you.

  You are right, my dear, that is better, she said, and her voice trembled and her ethereal eyes hid themselves in her handkerchief, so as not to let their tears and their confusion be seen.

  O Bellarmin! it nearly shattered my heart that I had made her turn so red with shame. Friends! I cried, preserve this angel for me. I know nothing more if I do not know her. O heaven! I must not think of what I would be capable if I did not have her.

  Be calm, Hyperion! Notara broke in.

  Calm, I cried; O you good people! you can often worry how the garden will bloom and how the harvest will turn out, you can pray for your grapevine – and I shall part without wishes from the only being my soul serves?

  No, O you good man! cried Notara, moved, I do not want you to part from her without wishes! no, by the divine innocence of your love! you have my blessing, that is certain.

  You remind me, I cried quickly. She shall bless us, this dear mother shall bear witness to us with all of you – come, Diotima! your mother shall hallow our union until the beautiful community for which we hope weds us.

  So I fell to one knee; with a wide gaze, blushing, festively smiling, she, too, sank down at my side.

  For a long time, I cried, O nature! our life has been one with you, and through love our own world is divinely youthful, like you and all your gods.

  In your groves we strolled, Diotima continued, and were like you, by your wellsprings we sat and were like you, there over the mountains we went, with your children, the stars, like you.

  When we were far from each other, I cried, when, like the whispers of a harp, our coming enchantment first sounded for us, when we found each other, when there was no more sleep and all tones in us awakened to life’s full chords, divine nature! then we were always like you, and now, too, when we part and joy dies, we are like you, full of suffering and yet good, thus shall a pure mouth bear witness for us that our love is holy and eternal, like you.

  I bear witness to it, said the mother.

  We bear witness to it, cried the others.

  Now not another word remained to us. I felt my most rapidly beating heart; I felt ripe for parting. Now I will go forth, you dear ones! I said, and life vanished from all their faces. Diotima stood like a marble statue, and her hand died palpably in mine. I had killed everything around me, I was alone and reeled before the boundless silence in which my overflowing life no longer found a hold.

  O! I cried, it is burning hot in my heart, and you all stand so coldly, you dear ones! and only the gods of the house bend their ears to listen? – Diotima! – you are silent, you do not see! – O fortunate for you, that you do not see!

  Then go, she sighed, it must be; go, you dear heart!

  O sweet sound from those lips of bliss! I cried, and stood like a suppliant before the lovely statue – sweet sound! waft upon me one more time, dawn one more time, dear light of those eyes!

  Do not speak thus, my dear! she cried, speak to me more earnestly, speak to me with greater heart!

  I wanted to restrain myself, but I was as in a dream.

  Woe! I cried, this is no parting from which one returns.

  You will kill her, cried Notara. See how gentle she is, and you are so beside yourself.

  I looked at her, and tears poured from my burning eyes.

  So then farewell, Diotima! I cried, heaven of my love, farewell! – let us be strong, dear friends! dear mother! I gave you joy and sorrow. Farewell! farewell!

  I staggered away. Diotima alone followed me.

  Evening had come, and the stars rose in the heavens. We stopped below the house. Eternity was in us, above us. Tenderly, like the ether, Diotima embraced me. Foolish man, what is separation? she whispered mysteriously to me, with the smile of an immortal.

  Now I, too, feel different, I said, and I do not know which of the two is a dream, my suffering or my joyfulness.

  Both are, she replied, and both are good.

  Perfect being! I cried, I speak as you do. We will recognize each other in the starry sky. May it be the sign between me and you, so long as our lips are mute.

  May it be so! she spoke with a slow tone that I had never heard before – it was her last. In the twilight her image vanished from me, and I know not if it was truly her when I turned around for the last time, and the dwindling figure flickered for one more instant before my eyes, and then expired into the night.

  HYPERION TO BELLARMIN

  Why do I tell you of my suffering, repeat it, and stir up my restless youth again in me? Is it not enough to have traversed mortality one time? why do I not remain silent in the peace of my spirit?

  This is why, my Bellarmin! because every breath of life remains precious to our heart, because all transformations of pure nature also belong to her beauty. Our soul, when it casts off mortal experiences and only lives in holy repose, is it not like a leafless tree? like a head without hair? Dear Bellarmin! I rested for a while; like a child, I lived among the quiet hills of Salamis, oblivious to the destiny and the striving of men. Since then much has changed in my eyes, and I now have enough peace in me to remain calm with every glance into human life. O friend! in the end the spirit reconciles us with all. You will not believe it, at least not from me. But I believe that you should see it even in my letters, how my soul daily becomes ever stiller. And I will continue to speak of this henceforth until you believe it.

  Here are letters from Diotima and me that we wrote to each other after my departure from Calaurea. They are the dearest of what I entrust to you. They are the warmest image from those days of my life. Of the clamor of war, they tell you little. All the more of my own life, and that is what you want. O, and you must also see how loved I was. That I could never tell you, that only Diotima can tell.

  HYPERION TO DIOTIMA

  I have awakened from the death of parting, my Diotima! strengthened, as from sleep, my spirit rouses itself.

  I write to you from a peak of the mountains of Epidaurus. There, far-off in the depths, looms your island, Diotima! and beyond that my stadium, where I must triumph or fall. O Peloponnese! O you wellsprings of the Eurotas and the Alpheus! there it will be decided! There, from the Spartan woods, the ancient genius of the land will plunge with our army like an eagle with roaring pinions.

  My soul is full of lust for deeds and full of love, Diotima, and my eye gazes out into the Greek valleys as if to command magically: Rise again, you cities of the gods!

  A god must be in me, for I also scarcel
y feel our separation. Like the blessed shades by the Lethe, my soul now lives with yours in heavenly freedom, and fate rules over our love no more.

  HYPERION TO DIOTIMA

  I am now in the middle of the Peloponnese. In the same hut in which I am spending the night, I once spent the night when, scarcely more than a boy, I traversed these regions with Adamas. How happily I sat then on the bench before the house and listened to the ringing of the far-off approaching caravans and the splashes of the nearby fountain that poured its silver waters into the basin under blooming acacias.

  Now I am again happy. I wander through this land as if through Dodona’s grove, where the oak trees resounded with oracles presaging glory. I see only deeds, past and future, even if I wander under the open sky from morning until evening. Believe me, he who travels through this land and still tolerates a yoke upon his neck becomes no Pelopidas, he is empty-hearted, or lacks understanding.

  So long has this land slept – so long has time crept by like the river of hell, murky and mute, in desolate idleness?

  And yet all lies ready. Full of vengeful powers, the mountain people around here is like a silent storm cloud that only waits for the tempestuous wind to drive it. Diotima! let me breathe the breath of god among them, let me speak a word from the heart to them, Diotima. Fear nothing! They will not be so savage. I know coarse nature. It scorns reason, but it is in league with enthusiasm. He who works with his whole soul never goes astray. He need not ponder, for no power is against him.

  HYPERION TO DIOTIMA

  Tomorrow I will be with Alabanda. It is a pleasure to ask the way to Koroni, and I ask more often than necessary. I would happily take the wings of the sun and fly to him, but I also so gladly linger and ask: How will he be?

  The kingly youth! why was I born later? why did I not spring from one cradle with him? I cannot bear the difference between us. O why did I live like an idle shepherd boy in Tina, and did not dream of the likes of him until he already tested nature in living work and already struggled with sea and air and all the elements? was not the impulse to the joy of deeds in me too?

  But I will catch up with him, I will be swift. By heaven! I am over-ripe for work. My soul will rage only against itself if I do not soon liberate myself through a living task.

  Exalted maiden! How could I measure up before you? How was it possible for you to love such a deedless being?

  HYPERION TO DIOTIMA

  I have him, dear Diotima!

  My breast is light, and my sinews are swift, ha! and the future entices me, as clear, watery depths entice us to leap in and cool our exuberant blood in the fresh bath. But this is chatter. We are dearer to each other than ever, my Alabanda and I. We are freer together, and yet there is all the fullness and depth of life that there once was.

  O how right the ancient tyrants were to forbid friendships like ours! Then one is strong as a demigod and tolerates nothing impudent in his domain! –

  It was evening when I entered his room. He had just laid his work aside, sat in a moonlit corner by the window and nursed his thoughts. I stood in the dark, he did not recognize me, gazed unconcernedly toward me. Heaven knows for whom he took me. Well, how is it going? he cried. Pretty well! I said. But the dissembling was in vain. My voice was full of secret rejoicing. What is this? he jolted up; is it you? Yes indeed, you blind man! I cried, and flew into his arms. O now! Alabanda finally cried, now things shall change, Hyperion!

  I think so, I said, and shook his hand joyfully.

  Do you still know me, then, Alabanda continued after a while, do you still have the old, pious faith in Alabanda? Magnanimous man! Things have never gone so well for me as when I felt myself in the light of your love.

  What! I cried, does Alabanda ask this? That was not spoken with pride, Alabanda. But it is a sign of this time that the old heroic nature goes begging for honor, and the living human heart, like an orphan, strains for a drop of love.

  Dear youth! he cried; I have merely grown old. The slack life everywhere and what happened with the old men into whose school I wanted to bring you in Smyrna –

  O it is bitter, I cried; the goddess of death, the nameless one that we call fate, dared to assail even this man.

  Light was brought, and we gazed anew at each other with soft, loving, searching looks. The figure of the dear man had changed much since the days of hope. Like the midday sun from the pale heavens, his large, eternally living eye blazed upon me from his faded face.

  Good youth! cried Alabanda with friendly indignation because I looked at him so, enough of the melancholy glances, good youth! I know well that I have declined. O my Hyperion! I long intensely for something great and true, and I hope to find it with you. You have outgrown me, you are freer and stronger than in the past and see! that delights my heart. I am the arid land, and you come like a fortunate storm – O it is glorious that you are here!

  Be silent! I said. You rob me of my senses, and we should not speak of ourselves at all until we are in life, in the midst of deeds.

  Yes indeed! Alabanda cried joyfully, not until the hunting horn sounds do the hunters feel themselves.

  Then will it soon begin? I said.

  It will, cried Alabanda, and I say to you, heart! it shall be quite a fire. Ha! may it reach to the top of the tower and consume its flag and rage and surge around it until it bursts and falls! – and only do not take offense at our allies. I know well that the good Russians would like to use us as firearms. But let that be! once our strong Spartans have had occasion to learn who they are and what they can do, and we have thus conquered the Peloponnese, then we will laugh in the face of the North Pole and build a life of our own.

  A life of our own, I cried, a new, an honorable life. Were we, then, born like a will-o’-the-wisp from the mire or are we descended from the victors at Salamis? How is this? how, O Greek free nature, have you become a maidservant? how have you declined so, fatherly race of which the divine images of Jupiter and of Apollo were once but copies? – But hear me, sky of Ionia! hear me, soil of my fatherland, you who, half-naked, like a beggar woman, clothe yourself in the rags of your ancient glory, I will no longer tolerate it!

  O sun who reared us! cried Alabanda, you shall watch when our courage grows through work, when our project takes shape under the blows of destiny like iron under the hammer.

  Each of us inflamed the other.

  And may no stain remain, I cried, no nonsense with which the century paints us as the rabble does the walls! O, cried Alabanda, that is why war is so good –

  Yes, Alabanda, I cried, as is all great work fostered by man’s strength and spirit and no crutch and no waxen wing. Thereby we cast off the slave garments on which destiny stamped us with its crest –

  Thereby nothing vain and nothing imposed holds sway any longer, cried Alabanda, thereby we go unadorned, unfettered, naked as in the race at Nemea, to the goal.

  To the goal, I cried, where the young free state dawns and the pantheon of all that is beautiful rises from Greek soil.

  Alabanda fell silent for a while. A new red rose in his face, and his figure grew like a refreshed plant into the heights.

  O youth! youth! he cried, then I will drink from your wellspring, then I will live and love. I am very joyful, sky of the night, he went on, as if intoxicated, while he walked to the window, like the foliage of a vine you overarch me, and your stars hang down like grapes.

  HYPERION TO DIOTIMA

  It is my good fortune that I live fully in work. I would fall into one folly after another, so full is my soul, so intoxicated am I by the man, the wondrous, the proud man, who loves nothing but me and heaps all humility that is in him only upon me. O Diotima! This Alabanda has wept before me, has, like a child, begged me to forgive what he did to me in Smyrna.

  Who am I then, you dear ones, that I call you mine, that I may say, They are my own, that I, like a conqueror, stand between you and clasp you like my spoils.

  O Diotima! O Alabanda! noble, calmly great beings! how must I acc
omplish, if I will not flee from my happiness, from you?

  Just now, while I was writing, I received your letter, you dear maiden.

  Mourn not, lovely being, mourn not! Preserve yourself, unscathed by grief, for the coming festivals of the fatherland! Diotima! preserve yourself for the glowing festive day of nature and for all the serene days of honor to the gods!

  Do you not already see Greece?

  O do you not see how, delighted by the new neighbors, the eternal stars smile over our cities and groves, how the ancient sea, when it sees our people strolling on the shore, remembers the beautiful Athenians and again brings happiness to us on joyful waves, as it did then to its darlings?

  Soulful maiden! You are already so beautiful now! once the true climate nourishes you, how you will bloom then in enchanting glory!

  DIOTIMA TO HYPERION

  I had shut myself in most of the time since you have been gone, dear Hyperion! Today I was once again outside.

  In lovely February air I gathered life, and bring what I have gathered to you. It has still done me good, the fresh warming of the heavens, I have still felt sympathy with the new joy of the plant world, pure and ever the same, where all mourns and rejoices again in its time.

  Hyperion! O my Hyperion! why, then, do we, too, not walk the quiet paths of life? They are holy names, winter and spring and summer and autumn! but we know them not. Is it not a sin to mourn in spring? why do we do it nonetheless?

  Forgive me! the children of the earth live through the sun alone; I live through you, I have other joys, is it then any wonder that I have other sorrows? and must I mourn? must I then?

  Courageous man! Dear man! should I wilt when you shine? should my heart grow weary when the joy of triumph awakens in all your sinews? Had I heard in the past that a Greek youth would set out to pull the good people out of its shame, to bring it back to the motherly beauty from which it sprang, how I would have been startled from the dream of childhood and thirsted for the image of the dear man! and now that he is there, now that he is mine, can I still weep? O the silly maiden! is it then not true? is he not the glorious man and is he not mine! O you shades of a blissful time! you my intimate memories!