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Leland translates so gracefully is an extravaganza, in marked contrast to all the other romances of Eichendorff, in so far as it is purposely farcical, and they are serious; but we imagine it does not differ from them greatly in its leading qualities of fanciful incoherency and unbridled feebleness.
The one novel of Eichendorff which has lived, From the Life of a Good-for-nothing , is a last Romantic shoot of Friedrich Schlegel's doctrine of divine laziness a delightful story, abounding in those elements which perennially endear Romanticism to the young heart, for it is full of nature and love and fortunate happenings.
In the latter case he is often what we see him above, and in the former he is always modest, discreet, and entertaining. Memoirs of a Good-for-Nothing. From the German of JOSEPH VON EICHENDORFF, by CHARLES GODFREY LELAND. With Vignettes by E. B. Bensell. New York: Leypoldt and Holt.
The first real poet to borrow from Brentano was Eichendorff, in whose Ahnung und Gegenwart we have the poem since published separately under the title of "Waldgespräch," and familiar to many through Schumann's composition. That Eichendorff's Lorelei operates the forest is only to be expected of the author of so many Waldlieder.
Goethe, whether he made the foregoing remark or not, at least received Loeben kindly; but he received others in the same way who were not poets at all. Eichendorff said: "Loeben. Wunderbar poetische Natur in stiller Verklärung." But Eichendorff was then only nineteen years old, and he later took this back.
When Schott, the publisher, sent him in October, 1895, his royalties for the editions of his Lieder of Mörike, Goethe, Eichendorff, Keller, Spanish poetry, and the first volume of Italian poetry, their total for five years came to eighty-six marks and thirty-five pfennigs! And Schott calmly added that he had not expected so good a result.
Paul Heyse, himself a poet, makes one of his characters say, "I have always carried Eichendorff Is book of songs with me on my travels. Whenever a feeling of strangeness comes over me in the variegated days, or I feel a longing for home, I turn its leaves and am at home again.
To know Loeben throws light on some of his much greater contemporaries Goethe, Eichendorff, Kleist, Novalis, Arnim, Brentano, Uhland, Görres, Tieck, and possibly Heine.
Wolf at twenty-eight years old had written practically nothing. From 1888 to 1890 he wrote, one after another, in a kind of fever, fifty-three Mörike Lieder, fifty-one Goethe Lieder, forty-four Spanish Lieder, seventeen Eichendorff Lieder, a dozen Keller Lieder, and the first Italian Lieder that is about two hundred Lieder, each one having its own admirable individuality.
As soon as she had finished the first song, he looked up at her in unaffected embarrassment, and murmured: “Who are you, anyhow? Who are you?” “No investigations or cross-questioning, please,” replied the singer, and, blushing at the praise Daniel was bestowing on her by his very behaviour, she laughed and said, “The next song, please, that one by Eichendorff!”
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