"In this voluptuous passion we have revelled ever since the glaring light of earthly life was extinguished, since the faggot flamed, the grave closed on us, and the sights of earth were hidden from the shuddering soul." XIII LONGING--"THE BLUE FLOWER" I have described Romantic "soul" as intensity, without endeavour or desire, as the glowing furnace in which liberty was asphyxiated and every tendency to outward action destroyed. But this is not the exact truth. One outward tendency remained, that which is known by the name of "longing" (Sehnsucht). Longing is the Romantic equivalent of endeavour, and the mother of all Romantic poetry. What is longing? It is a combination of lack and desire, without the determination or the means to attain what one lacks and desires. And what is the object of this longing? What but that which is the object of all longing and desire, in however fine or hypocritical words it may clothe itself--enjoyment and happiness. The Romanticist does not employ the word happiness, but it is what he means. He does not say happiness, he says "the ideal." But do not let us be deceived by words. The special characteristic of the Romanticist, however, is not his search after happiness, but his belief that it exists, that it must be in store for him, and that it will come to him when he least expects it. And since it is the gift of Heaven, since he himself is not its creator, he may lead as aimless a life as he will, guided only by his vague longing. All that is necessary is to preserve his faith that this longing will be satisfied. And it is a faith easy to preserve, for everything around him is full of omens and prophecies of the accomplishment of his desire. It was Novalis who gave to the object of Romantic longing the famous, mystic name of "the blue flower." The expression is, of course, not to be understood literally. The "blue flower" is a mysterious symbol, something of the nature of ΙΧθΥΣ, the Fish of the early Christians. It is an abbreviation, a condensed formulation of all that infinitude of bliss for which a languishing human heart is capable of longing. Hence glimpses of it are caught long before it is reached; it is dreamed of long before it is seen; it is divined now here, now there, in what proves to be a delusion, is seen for a moment amongst other flowers, only to vanish immediately; but its fragrance is perceptible, at times only faint, at times strong, and the seeker is intoxicated by it. Though, like the butterfly, he flutters from flower to flower, settling now upon a violet, now upon some tropical plant, he is always seeking and longing for the one thing--perfect, ideal happiness. It is with this longing and its object that Novalis's principal work deals. It is a work which we must study, and, to understand it aright, we must first see how it came into existence.