Justin Chen
Professor Hamlin
4/24/01

The Necessity of Faith in Art in Hoffmann’s The Golden Pot and Mozart’s The Magic Flute

Although Mozart’s The Magic Flute was published some 23 years before Hoffmann’s The Golden Pot, the two works are remarkably similar in their fancifully optimistic tone and basic plot structure. Indeed, a structuralist literary critic would have no difficulty in finding numerous superficial correlations between the two tales; both are centered around a young man’s pursuit of a fantastic world through childlike faith and a devoted love for a central female character, and both contain certain common elements like a magic mirror, the basic struggle between good and evil, and a final glorious triumph in which the protagonist is celebrated for his successful attainment of paradise. Yet even beyond the surface similarities, The Magic Flute and The Golden Pot share certain central convictions about the redemptive and mystical qualities of music and the ultimate attainment of paradise theorized by German Romantic philosophers such as Hegel and Schiller. In the end, both works represent an affirming belief in the power of the unifying forces of art, poetry, and love, to reconcile fallen man with a utopian vision of harmony.

One of the most important features common to both works is the dichotomy between the “real world” and a certain wondrous, innocent realm that is ordinarily beyond the reach of humans. This distinction between reality and utopia is fairly obvious in The Golden Pot, in which Anselmus is often derided by the more pragmatically-minded for his “flights of fancy” into the mystical world of Archivist Lindhorst and his three daughters. In The Magic Flute, the separation between worlds is more subtle but extant nonetheless. Though it is not explicitly stated in the text, Tamino seems to have come from a very distant land, for soon after their encounter, Papageno asks him incredulously, “Do you mean to say that beyond these mountains there are other countries and other people?” (MF, 64). (i)

Indeed, the realm of Sarastro and the Queen of the Night seems isolated and very different from the “real” world as Tamino knows it; Papageno cannot give the land a name, calling it instead the country “between valleys and mountains” (MF, 64), and when Tamino finally realizes that he is in the realm of the Queen of the Night, “of whom [his] father often spoke,” he states, “It is beyond my comprehension how I can have wandered here” (MF, 66). His perplexity implies that it is just as much beyond his comprehension, how he will ever wander back.

It is also interesting to notice that both Anselmus and Tamino are in a way propelled into their respective fantasy worlds by a malignant, supernatural force. In The Magic Flute, Tamino enters the play fleeing from an enormous serpent, a creature that one would not ordinarily think of in terms of speed or hunting prowess (suggesting that it is a magical creature with unnatural capabilities). How or why Tamino has been selected as the monster’s prey is anyone’s guess, and this uncertainty adds to the fanciful feeling of the opening of the play.

Anselmus has an even more striking and terrifying encounter at the beginning of The Golden Pot with the old woman selling apples and cakes, later identified to be none other than the evil Frau Rauer. His mishap with her basket and the subsequent forfeit of all his money is the very event that forces him, dejected, to forgo the pleasures of Linke’s Restaurant and to instead sit under the elder tree near the River Elbe, which is of course where his first encounter with Lindhorst’s daughter occurs. In a way, then, the protagonists of both tales are literally driven out of their own respective worlds by malignant forces from the fanciful realms that await them.

Another common element to both stories is the rapid introduction of a feminine entity that acts as a sort of goal for which the young male heroes feel compelled to strive. In The Golden Pot, Anselmus has scarcely sat under the elder tree when he is “interrupted by a strange rushing, swishing sound” (GP, 4), which turns out to be caused by Serpentina, a feminine entity in the body of a green snake with blue eyes. (ii) Anselmus feels a tremendous attraction to Serpentina almost immediately; Hoffmann writes, “As Anselmus gazed ever more deeply into those magnificent eyes, his yearning grew more intense, his desire more ardent” (GP, 6).

Similarly, in The Magic Flute, Tamino is shown an image of Pamina shortly after his arrival into Sarastro’s land. He immediately declares, “Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön” (MF, 69), and as he continues to stare at it, he states wonderingly, “Soll die Empfindung Liebe sein? / Ja, ja! Die Liebe ist’s allein!” (MF, 70). In both stories, then, love or desire comes instantaneously and with such conviction that one automatically suspects some sort of magic must be at work. Further, the immediate and absolute love exhibited by both characters seems almost straight out of a fairy tale, another indication that we are no longer strictly in the real world, but have stumbled into a much more fanciful realm.

It is important to note that the term “love” seems to be interchangeable with “desire” or “yearning” to describe the same intense emotion. Hoffmann’s original German includes the nouns “Verlangen” and “Sehnsucht,” both of which essentially represent yearning or longing. And although Tamino does not actually say the word “yearning,” he does interestingly enough phrase the remainder of his speech entirely in the conditional tense: “O wenn ich sie nur finden könnte! O wenn sie doch schon vor mir stände! Ich würde —würde… Was würde ich?” (MF, 70). The grammatical construction of this speech certainly suggests longing or yearning in its expression of unfulfilled desire, even without explicit use of either of those terms.

The love or desire exhibited by both Anselmus and Tamino for their respective would-be lovers drives most of the action of both tales, and sustains both protagonists during their difficult quests. As Pamina and Papageno sing together shortly after meeting each other, “Wir wollen uns der Liebe freu[e]n, / Wir leben durch die Lieb’ allein” (MF, 82). In fact, the sort of blind faith embodied by the statement “Wir leben durch die Lieb’ allein” is extremely important in both The Magic Flute and The Golden Pot. In both tales, the innocence of the protagonist is emphasized, and each must exhibit a sort of childlike belief in order to succeed.

When Anselmus is in the boat with Registrary Heerbrand, Sub-Rector Paulmann, and his two daughters, the three green snakes in the water whisper to him: “Anselmus! Anselmus! Don’t you see us always swimming ahead of you?… believe —believe —believe in us” (GP, 9). The word “believe” (glauben) has a certain Christian context behind it in both English and German, and it suggests a sort of faith in that which cannot be proved. This feeling of trusting acceptance mirrors the belief exhibited by Pamina and Papageno. The connection between belief and love is further emphasized throughout The Golden Pot; Serpentina questions, “Do you know me —do you believe in me, Anselmus? Only in faith is there love —can you really love?” (GP, 24; “Nur in dem Glauben ist die Liebe”).

The innocence of each protagonist, as mentioned above, is crucial for his mission to succeed. According to the Queen of the Night, Tamino is suitable for the task at hand because he is “blameless, noble, strong” (“unschuldig, weise, fromm”), and he therefore “need not fear” (MF, 72). Interestingly, “blameless” is the first adjective she uses to describe him, suggesting that the purity of innocence is the most important characteristic for the protagonist to possess. Furthermore, when Tamino fears for Pamina’s safety at the hands of Sarastro, one of the three ladies sent by the Queen of the Night says, “Trotz aller Pein, so die Unschuld duldet, ist sie sich immer gleich” (MF, 71). The implication is that the possession of innocence lends one a sort of righteous aegis against harm. Again, this sort of sentiment seems to come straight out of an optimistic fairy tale, and it provides a standard to which the heroes must adhere.

Anselmus too is in possession of this vital quality of innocence. Lindhorst informs him that “the condition for marriage” to Serpentina is “a child-like poetic spirit” (GP, 56). He continues, “Such a spirit is often found in youths who are mocked by the rabble because of the lofty simplicity of their behaviour and because they lack what people call worldly manners” (GP, 56). This description of course perfectly suits Anselmus, who always seems to be trying too hard and is the butt of many jokes in the “real world.” Yet it is also this childlike nature that Lindhorst claims is necessary to enter into a union with his daughter Serpentina.

And herein lies one of the central themes of both works, but especially The Golden Pot. That is, the protagonist must adopt an essentially neutral role in the quest for ultimate happiness and utopia. In a way, both Anselmus and Tamino are innocent agents that must leave behind every trace of their former world in order to ascend to the final upper plane of existence that they seek. As Lindhorst puts it, Anselmus can only ascend to the “distant land of wonders” by “shaking off the burden of common cares” (56). The innocence of both protagonists allows them to have the faith necessary to eventually succeed, and it also proves their willingness to completely accept the unfamiliar and fanciful realms that they seek.

In The Magic Flute, Tamino’s trial is a test of his innocence and subsequent ability to resist temptation, making him a passive hero rather than an active one. The tests he must pass do not involve action —there is no beast to slay or maiden to rescue. Rather, he is simply charged to remain silent throughout all the various challenges and temptations with which he is presented. In order to successfully accomplish this, Tamino must rely on his child-like faith and not on his love for Pamina. In fact, one of the most difficult trials for Tamino is the order not to speak even when Pamina appears and implores him to explain his silence to her. She laments, “Tamino, what have I done? Don’t make me suffer… Oh, this is worse than suffering, worse than death” (MF, 109). The stage instructions have Tamino sighing in between each of Pamina’s outbursts, implying that he is greatly affected by her words, as one would imagine. Yet throughout the entire ordeal, his task is to remain implacable and verbally unresponsive.

Throughout his tortuous journey, Tamino is sustained only by his faith. The three boys who act as a sort of guide have assured him, “Wenn wir zum drittenmal uns sehen, / Ist Freude eures Mutes Lohn! / Tamino, Mut! Nah ist das Ziel” (MF, 108). Thus, it is belief in and hope for the achievement of some greater reward that ultimately gives Tamino the strength to endure suffering. It is his innocent and uncorrupted nature, however, that allows him to have this faith in the first place. As Sarastro states, Tamino “seufzt mit tugendvollem Herzen nach einem Gegenstande, den wir alle mit Mühe und Fleiss erringen müssen” (91). Tamino’s virtuous heart stems from his incorruptible nature, and allows him to place his faith in Sarastro’s words. Further, Sarastro announces, “Kurz, dieser Jüngling will seinen nächtlichen Schleier von sich reissen und in’s Heiligtum des grössten Lichtes blicken” (91). In this statement is a clearer indication that the end result of Tamino’s striving is a renunciation of his former world and a complete acceptance of Sarastro’s. He will strip himself of the veil of night and come face to face with the holy sanctuary of Light, a process that seems to be final and irreversible. In this way, he will leave behind all traces of his former life and join Pamina in a glorious new paradise.

Anselmus has a similar experience in his quest for Serpentina. As noted above, he has been described by Lindhorst as possessing the vital “child-like poetic spirit.” And he is certainly aware of the innocent faith necessary for success; he is indeed reminded of the fact throughout the novel by various characters. Lindhorst states, “Take heart young man!… If you have proven faith and true love, Serpentina will help you” (GP, 52; “bewährten Glauben und wahre Liebe” in the original German). Serpentina herself counsels, “Be true, true, true to me, and soon you will reach your aim!” (GP, 57; “halte treu —treu —an mir, bald bist du am Ziel!”). Just as Sarastro tells Tamino that his task is not to prove himself through any particular action, but rather to demonstrate a faithful spirit and resist temptations, Serpentina tells Anselmus, “Be brave, be steadfast, dear Anselmus! I am working with you, so that you shall be mine!” (GP, 41; “sei mutig —sei standhaft”). The parallel between the stories is clear; the hero must only retain an unshakable faith and he will be able to accomplish any task set before him.

And just as in the case of Tamino, Anselmus’ faith does indeed lend him extraordinary powers. As he carries out the onerous task of manuscript copying that Lindhorst has set before him, he discovers to his great delight that his pen flows freely and flawlessly. A “voice coming from his innermost heart” whispers to him, “Ah! could you accomplish this if she were not in your heart and mind, if you did not believe in her and her love?” (GP, 41). That is, just as Tamino would not have been able to resist the trials set before him by Sarastro in the temple, especially Pamina’s desperate appeals to his love, without his steadfast faith in a greater goal, Anselmus is only able to carry out the necessary tasks through his belief in Serpentina’s love for him and in the final reward of paradise. Ultimately, then, it is the demonstration of this faith that is the true trial for the heroes, not the copying of manuscripts in Anselmus’ case or the vow of silence in Tamino’s.

Yet Anselmus’ yearning does not seem to be limited only to the green snake with the enchanting blue eyes. Indeed, as Hoffmann writes, “He felt some unknown force stirring within him and causing that blissful pain, that yearning, which assures humanity of another and higher existence” (GP, 21; “Er fühlte, wie ein unbekanntes Etwas in seinem Innersten sich regte und ihm jenen wonnevollen Schmerz verurfachte, der eben die Sehnsucht ist, welche dem Menschen ein anderes höheres Sein verheisst”). It is this “höheres Sein” that truly draws Anselmus onward in his quest and provides much of the impetus for his constant yearning. One does not get as explicit a reference to some higher goal in The Magic Flute than Pamina’s love, although Sarastro does discuss the entrance into the “Heiligtum des grössten Lichtes,” and Tamino does by the end of the opera attain a sort of higher realm of existence which is not described in detail.

Finally, just as Tamino must be prepared to tear off the veil of night in order to enter Sarastro’s kingdom, Anselmus must also be willing to give himself up completely to the mystical land symbolized by the golden pot. And it is when considering this complete giving of oneself over to another world that the dichotomy between fantasy and reality is at its strongest and most well-defined. This distinction is expressed much more clearly and directly in The Golden Pot because Hoffmann seems to be actively concerned with exploring its implications. For instance, at the beginning of the Fourth Vigil, Hoffmann suddenly changes the tone of narration and directly addresses the reader. He writes, “Let me ask you outright, gentle reader, if there have not been hours, indeed whole days and weeks of your life, during which all your usual activities were painfully repugnant, and everything you believed in and valued seemed worthless and foolish?” (GP, 20). This sudden shift is quite jarring for the reader, who imagined himself as separate from the fantastical events in the novel.

Hoffmann continues, “At such times… your breast was stirred by an obscure feeling that a noble desire for an object surpassing all earthly pleasures must somewhere, sometime be fulfilled… this yearning for something unknown obsessed you wherever you went” (GP, 20). It is interesting to note that the original German term for “yearning” is “Sehnsucht,” which we have already encountered in other contexts. Further, the “object surpassing all earthly pleasures” is none other than “das unbekannte Etwas,” which was used to describe Anselmus’ own yearning for “ein höheres Sein.” In one fell swoop, then, Hoffmann has knocked every reader into the same forlorn boat as the novel’s protagonist, forcing us to examine and question our own progress on the quest toward achieving that higher plane of existence.

In this way, The Golden Pot represents a departure from The Magic Flute, which does not explicitly present such questions to the reader. Although Sarastro’s realm is clearly distinct from Tamino’s original country, nowhere is Tamino’s plight equated with the audience’s. The connection certainly may be implied, but only The Golden Pot seems to have an express concern with demonstrating the similarities between Anselmus’ plight and our own.

Yet Hoffmann does not merely wish to point out the separation between man’s fallen state and the paradise for which he constantly yearns. He continues, “You are now, kind reader, in the fairy realm of glorious wonders, whose mighty strokes summon up both supreme bliss and extreme horror” (GP, 20), adding, “this magnificent realm is much nearer at hand than you had previously thought” (GP, 21). This passage is extremely interesting because it suggests that the nature of the “fairy realm” is so foreign that it necessarily provokes intense emotions, positive or negative. The language used by Hoffmann (“die höchste Wonne sowie das tieffte Entsessen”) suggests the Romantic notion of the sublime. Thus, once again, the possibility (or even likelihood) of being consumed by the fanciful realm is introduced. This time, though, the prospect is directly applicable to the reader as well.

Yet Hoffmann’s tone is not at all bleak or pessimistic. He clearly dismisses the notion that the utopian realm that lures each of us is out of our reach. Before this point, one might have suspected that Hoffmann’s creation of two separate worlds of reality and fantasy would preclude one from being able to cross from the former to the latter. Certainly, The Magic Flute offers no sense that others from Tamino’s kingdom will be able to “follow in his footsteps” and attain the paradise promised him by Sarastro. But if Hoffmann’s “fairy realm” is truly close at hand, there must indeed be some hope after all. Thus, Hoffmann’s discursive shift that forces the reader into the novel ends up having a redemptive quality.

All of this discussion has obviously been building up to the final scenes of both The Magic Flute and The Golden Pot, in which the heroes successfully emerge from their trials unscathed, there is a final climactic battle in which the forces of evil are defeated, and the wondrous and of-discussed “fairy realm” is finally achieved. In The Magic Flute, Tamino and Pamina journey through the “dreaded doorway / Where pain and death may lie” (MF, 119), successfully guided by the power of the enchanted flute. After the Queen of the Night and her minions are defeated by Sarastro’s forces, Tamino and Pamina are celebrated as a pair, even though it was Tamino alone who initially began the quest. This detail is interesting because in both works, the glorious achievement of paradise is marked by a sort of ultimate unification, a recognition of the beauty in harmony.

As one of the armed men guarding the final test puts it, “Wenn [man] des Todes Schrecken überwinden kann, / Schwingt er sich aus der Erde himmelan. / Erleuchtet wird er dann imstande sein, / Sich den Mysterien der Isis ganz zu weihn” (MF 118). If one analyzes this situation in terms of a Hegelian dialectic, it appears that a successful interaction between man as agent and Sarastro’s trial of the fear of death results in an “Aufhebung” in which man not only ascends toward heaven, but also becomes enlightened about spiritual matters. That is, a sort of synthetic unification of earthly and higher consciousness is the ultimate reward for the innocent faith and striving exhibited by Tamino.

The Golden Pot follows a similar mechanism; Anselmus, having been bewitched by Frau Rauer through Veronica, fails to copy a manuscript correctly, resulting in disaster and the appearance of the witch in Lindhorst’s garden. He recognizes that the reason for his failure was not any particular negative action on his part, only his loss of belief in his beloved Serpentina, to whom he cries, “Was I not base enough to doubt you? Did I not lose my faith, and with it everything that was to have made me supremely happy?” (GP, 68). Yet he has not yet lost his innocent spirit, as becomes apparent when he converses with the “sixth-formers and solicitors’ clerks” who refuse to believe that they are all trapped in a glass bottle. Anselmus sighs, “They have never beheld the lovely Serpentina, they have no inkling of freedom and life in faith and love; that is why they do not feel the pressure of the prison to which the salamander confined them” (GP, 69; “sie wiessen nicht, was Freiheit und Leben in Glauben und Liebe ist”). Thus, Anselmus still possesses the child-like poetic spirit described by Lindhorst, for he is still being “mocked by the rabble” for the “simplicity” of his ideas and the faith in another world that he possesses.

After Frau Rauer is defeated, Anselmus turns to look at Lindhorst, only to discover that the former Archivist has been transformed into “the prince of spirits” (GP, 72) who commends the young man for successfully passing the test. Hoffmann writes, “A flash of lightning pierced Anselmus’ heart, the splendid trio of crystal bells rang out louder and clearer than he had ever heard it —all his fibres and nerves trembled” (GP, 72). The symbolism of music in both tales as a sort of redemptive and mystical force becomes increasingly important near the end of The Golden Pot. The fact that Anselmus hears the bells “louder and clearer” than ever before suggests that having successfully completed the final test, he has ascended into a different sort of plane, and one that is closer to the paradise for which he is striving.

Indeed, it is necessary at this moment to digress slightly from the final scenes of The Golden Pot to discuss the important role that music plays as an indicator of the sublime and as a representation of the sort of unifying force that can reconcile disparate parts of the world into one synthetic whole. Tamino’s flute, for instance, is capable of entrancing the animals that hear it: “Wie stark ist nicht dein Zauberton, / Weil, holde Flöte, durch dein Spielen / Selbst wilde Tiere Freude fühlen” (MF, 86). Further, Papageno’s crystal bells (note the similarity to The Golden Pot) produce a similar effect on humans —when he plays them, Monostatos and the other slaves are entranced, singing, “Das klinget so herrlich, das klinget so schön!” (MF, 87). The mystical power of music is unmistakable here. Through the magic of their instruments, Tamino and Papageno are somehow able to unite even their enemies and the lowly animals in music and song. Thus, music seems to have the power to produce unity and harmony in nature.

Throughout The Golden Pot as well, music and musical sounds possess a mystical power. When Anselmus first encounters Serpentina, “the flowers seem to tinkle like tiny crystal bells” (GP, 4). It is interesting to note that as in The Magic Flute, music seems to be able to commune with nature, perhaps as an indication of its authenticity —the flowers here are able to act like musical instruments. A little later, when Registrary Heerbrand compliments Veronica on having “a voice like a crystal bell,” Anselmus involuntarily bursts out, “Nothing of the sort!,” adding, “Crystal bells sound wonderful in elder-trees! Wonderful!” (GP, 11). The mention of the bells induces an almost Pavlovian response in Anselmus, who appears compelled (quite against his own will) to comment on the matter. In this way, the music of the bells again seems capable of exerting extraordinary power over humans, and it also serves in this case to remind Anselmus of his goal of obtaining Serpentina.

Even language can be considered musical in The Golden Pot; during the scene in which Serpentina and her sisters speak to Anselmus from the elder tree, the very words they use seem to unite form and function in their overwhelmingly sibilant tone: “Zwischen durch —zwischen ein —zwischen Zwiegen, zwischen schwellenden Blüten, schwingen, schlängeln, schlingen wir uns —Schwesterlein —Schwesterlein, schwinge dich im Schimmer —schnell, schnell herauf” (GGP, 241). (iii) Even the English translation manages to get a sense of the passage’s intended sound effect: “We slip and slide and slither —sisters, little sisters, slither through the shimmering sunshine” (GP, 4). This is earthly speech at its highest form, for the sibilance of each word seems to imply and imitate the very snake-like actions that they describe.

The fallen nature of human language is more forcefully implied when Anselmus attempts to copy the final “manuscript” for Lindhorst (actually a leaf from one of the golden palm-trees in the garden). Hoffmann writes, “Anselmus was astonished by the strangely intertwined characters, and at the sight of the many dots, strokes, dashes, and curlicues, which seemed by turns to represent plants, or mosses, or animal shapes” (GP, 52-3). Again, this language seems to possess a peculiar authenticity because the shapes on the page mirror natural objects. Indeed, the attractiveness of this new form of language is the collapse of a distinction between the signifier and the signified as characterized by Ferdinand de Saussure in his Course in General Linguistics. The union of language with its corresponding set of transcendental signifieds is a utopian vision that is often associated by the German Romantic philosophers with the ultimate goal of paradise (i.e. Hegel’s Absolute).

Further, the fallen nature of language is described much more explicitly in exactly that manuscript which Anselmus unwittingly transcribes. The text describes “the unhappy time when the degenerate race of men will no longer understand the language of nature… when man will be estranged from the harmonious circle and only an infinite yearning will bring him obscure tidings of the wondrous realm that he once inhabited, while faith and love dwelt in his heart” (GP, 55). Here again, the separation between earthly man and some sort of paradise of unified consciousness and understanding is made strikingly apparent. The potential musical qualities of man’s language, as exhibited by Serpentina and her sisters, are a mere shadow of the ultimate language of nature that represents an absolute harmonious reconciliation of all natural objects. An example of this utopia is the “exultant chorus” of “the flowers, the birds, and even the lofty granite rocks” (GP, 16) that pays homage to the fiery lily in Lindhorst’s story earlier in the novel.

To now return to the subject of unity in the final scenes of The Golden Pot —the narrator, upon drinking the flaming arrack provided by the Archivist, observes the very totality of nature promised by Lindhorst’s manuscript. He describes how the leaves of the palm-trees “rise and move, whispering mysteriously of the wonders proclaimed by the sweet and distant notes of a harp” (GP, 81), suggesting the unity of music of nature. Further, the flowers “lift their beautiful heads” and “call in delightful tones to the happy man [Anselmus]: ‘Walk among us, beloved, who understands us —our fragrance is the yearning of love —we love you and are yours for evermore!” (GP, 81). The birds, trees, streams, and even the golden rays of the sun communicate with Anselmus in this final mystical scene. In this way, the natural world enters into a sort of unfettered communion with man. Finally, when Anselmus and Serpentina embrace for the first time, there is a sort of exultation by the elemental spirits, and Anselmus declares, “Serpentina! Faith in you, love for you has disclosed to me the innermost being of nature!… The lily is the knowledge of the holy harmony of all living things, and in this knowledge I shall live in the utmost happiness for evermore” (GP, 83; “die Erkenntnis des heiligen Einklangs aller Wesen”). Thus, the triumphant celebration of the holy union of Tamino and Pamina and the attainment of an enlightened consciousness at the end of The Magic Flute perfectly matches the scene at the end of The Golden Pot.

As discussed above, however, Hoffmann’s work always seems to go one step farther than The Magic Flute in attempting to relate the fantastic events occurring in the novel to the mundane world of the reader. The unfortunate narrator of The Golden Pot feels “pierced and lacerated by sudden anguish,” lamenting, “But as for poor me, in a few minutes I shall have left this fine room, which is far from being an estate in Atlantis, to return to my garret” (GP, 83). This depressing sentiment is directly targeted at the reader, who must surely realize that upon putting down the novel, the fantastic and wondrous realm attained by Anselmus will fade into nothing more than a dream.

Yet Hoffmann provides us with a final redemptive hope through the words of Lindhorst: “Weren’t you in Atlantis yourself a moment ago, and haven’t you at least got a pretty farm there, as the poetic property of your mind? Indeed, is Anselmus’s happiness anything other than life in poetry, where the holy harmony of all things is revealed as the deepest secret of nature?” (83). It is this “poetisches Besisstum [unseres] innern Sinns” that allows us all to attain the ultimate unity of nature that is, in the end, the object of all Romantic yearning.

Both The Magic Flute and The Golden Pot, then, are essentially optimistic works that celebrate the potential elevation of fallen man to the plane of a sort of utopia of universal harmony. In order to reach this ultimate mystical communion with nature, man must possess the innocence necessary to endure the trials set before him and to steadfastly maintain lasting faith in the possibility of achieving his final goal. For both Tamino and Anselmus, the true trial does not involve acts of strength or wit, but rather the demonstration of an unshakable child-like belief. Though music helps only Tamino in his quest and not Anselmus, its mystical unifying and enchanting abilities are shared by both texts. In the end, the two heroes attain their goals in a glorious affirmation of the powers of faith and love. But the story does not end there; as Hoffmann assures the reader, we can all access the state of bliss associated with a true comprehension of the harmony in nature if we will only, like Anselmus and Tamino, have an immovable faith in the redemptive, unifying powers of music, poetry, and art.

i) Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus. The Magic Flute/Die Zauberflöte. Opera Guide Series (Ed: Nicholas John). John Calder Publishers, Ltd., New York, NY. 1997. Citations in the form (MF, page number).

ii) Hoffmann, E.T.A. The Golden Pot and Other Tales (Tr: Ritchie Robertson). Oxford University Press, Inc., NY. 1992. Citations in the form (GP, page number; optional translation of portions of the passage—see below).

iii) Hoffmann, E.T.A. Sämtliche Werke (Erste Band). Georg Müller. Leipzig. 1912. Citations in the form (GGP, page number).