Arquivo de literature | Page 88 of 111

E. T. A. Hoffmann in the 21st Century

I smile imagining the judge E. T. A. Hoffmann: a judge, in the words of Carpeaux, “of the most honorable and — in difficult times of political reaction — of the most independent ever Prussia had.” I smile at this judge in our esteemed century. I mean: the judge, who was also a very skilled narrator, would be easily destroyed by the stupid and envious hordes who, in these times, have fun ruining lives and careers. Very funny would be, for example, the plot of Die Elixiere des Tenfels, an excellently crafted novel, adapted to our days: an evangelical pastor possessed by the devil is led to murder and incest, succeeding not only in camouflaging his crimes but also in gaining positions in the social pyramid. I ask: is it or is it not fun to imagine what would happen to the reputation of this judge if he had the novel released today? Would he be able, for example, to be appointed to the Supreme Court? The honorable judge in this century would learn what is to be democratically lynched.

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The Great Art Demands the Great Themes

The accurate study of the artistic technique runs the great risk of clouding the motivation of the art in the author’s head. Beauty is fundamentally created from acute perception and not from abstract motivation. If aesthetics escapes the understanding of the weak rationalism, it is not a consequence that, freed from experience, represents anything. The expressive effect is supported by the technique, but it will never be powerful if based on frivolity: to be great, art demands the great themes.

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The Living Representation of Contrary Psychological Manifestations

The grandiose, in literature, involves the living representation of contrary psychological manifestations. Great authors, of course, narrow down and move away from opposing ideologies, depending on the point of view, because the great art involves the ability to grasp reality from various perspectives. A great author will never allow himself to be addicted, predictable, and therefore will never be fit into an ideological box without thousands of reservations.

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I Would Be Infinitely Happier If I Were a Tree

I would be infinitely happier if I were a tree. I correct: a stone—today trees are embraced…—Stones do not listen, they are not bothered, they are not asked, they do not pay taxes and, that is exactly the word, they live in peace. If not as components of the landscape, they are invisible. And who can tell the limits of their inner universe? The incapacity to listen—I presume; because if they listen, they never react…—is something really enviable and superior. The weak human mind, so vulnerable to terrible disturbances coming from noise, which submit it and silence it in extreme ease, has only to envy the placidity of the life of this noble rocky being…

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