Franz Werfel
Franz Werfel (born in Prague, 10.09.1890 – died Beverly Hills, 26.08.1945)
Went to school and studied in Prague. Moved to Vienna. Emigrated 1938 to France with his wife Alma Mahler-Werfel (composer) via the Pyrennees. Moved from there to the USA in 1940.
Poet: Der Weltfreund (friend of the world), Wir sind (we are)
Novels: Nicht der Moerder sondern der Ermordete ist schuldig (Not the Murderer is guilty but the victim), Verdi, The Song of Bernadette (written in English), Stern der Ungeborenen (Star of the Unborn), das Veruntreute Himmel (The wasted heaven)
Short Stories: Manon, The Man who cheated death
Plays: Der Spiegelmensch (the Mirror person) (a magic trilogy), das Reich Gottes in Boehmen (GodÂ’s empire in Bohemia), Jakobowsky und der Oberst (Jakobowsky and the Commander)
The Song of Bernadette - universal spiritual
Song Of Bernadette (Leonard Cohen, Jennifer Warnes, Bill Elliott)
There was a child named Bernadette
I heard the story long ago
She saw the Queen of Heaven once
And kept the vision in her soul
No one believed what she had seen
No one believed what she heard
But there were sorrows to be here
And mercy, mercy in this world
So many hearts I find, broke like yours and mine
Torn by what we've done and can't undo
I just wanna hold you, come on let me hold you
Like Bernadette would do
We've been around, we fall, we fly
We mostly fall, we mostly run
And every now and then we try
To mend the damage that we've done
Tonight, tonight I just can't rest
I've got this joy inside my breast
To think that I did not forget that child
That song of Bernadette
So many hearts I find, broke like yours and mine
Torn by what we've done and can't undo
I just wanna hold you, won't let me hold you
Like Bernadette would do
I just wanna hold you, come on let me hold you
Like Bernadette would do
Bernadette (st. Mary Church Belfast) This song is definitely in the style of the book. And that is why it features here. This page will be completed soon. Do bear with me.
We are dwelling a bit on Franz Werfel because I found today his draft to "The song of Bernadette" which, as we all know, inspired a song by Leonard Cohen and Jennifer Warnes. It is in deutsch, but when I get to it, you will all get a translation. I just want to say, that this is a beautiful book and this excerpt shows why Franz Werfel, who was not a member of any church but a seeker for beauty and spirituality was recommended by Max Brod. I like the idea of the writer who does not psychologise and does not want to theoretise, this is probably why I have felt so much at ease with the Prague Circle, I am sure that none of them is going to force me to adopt a new faith, or try to find myself - all them just write beautiful books, in a world that might be dark and threatening. These people do not talk about issues, the issues come to them - personally I can identify with that :
Franz Werfel ist in keiner Weise psychologisierend oder theoretisierend, in keiner Weise programmatisch oder auf das Zeitgemaesse als ein Besonderes gestimmt. Werfel’s Gestaltung kommt nicht von der Analyse, nicht von der Psychologie, auch nicht von einem Programm her. Das alte lateinische Grundsatz „Individuum est ineffabile“ – „Das Individuum ist nicht in Worte zu fassen“ – hat ihn immer beherrscht. Dieses Unaussprechliche wolle er gestalten.
Entwurfe eines Vorworts zu Das Lied von Bernadette
„Gí²’í¹§e Leser, die mein Buch schon kennen, versichern mir, es sei eine der „spannendsten Geschichten“. Sie hä´´en den Roman verschlungen und nicht aus der Hand legen koennen, obwohl ihnen das Thema – die Begegnung eines jungen Maedchens mit einer geheimnisvollen Dame, der Kampf dieses Maedchens gegen eine ganze Welt, ein ganzes Zeitalter – am Anfang wenigstens sehr fremdartig erschienen sei. So angenehm dieses „Statement“ auch in den Ohren eines Schriftstellers klingen mag, es kí¹ºí¾´e den Verdacht erwecken, in meinem Buche sei kein „meaning“, keine „message“ enthalten und ich hä´´e bloss einen interessanten, ungewoehnlichen Stoff in ein „escapistisches Entertainment“ verwandelt.
„Nein“, so muss ich auf diesen Verdacht erwidern, trotz der Dramatik meines Romans, trotz meines kí±»í³´lerischen Entschlusses so wenig wie mí¹ží¼©ch zu kommentieren und zu reflektieren, keines meiner Buecher, auch die „Forty Days of Musa Dagh“ enthalten mehr „message“ und „meaning“ als „song of Bernadette“. Ich bin fest í±Šíµ²zeugt davon, dass ich ein hoechst aktuelles Buch geschrieben habe, obwohl seine Handlung schon im Jahre 1933 abschliesst. Ich habe mit vollem Bewusstsein ein aktuelles Buch geschrieben, ein Kampf-Buch dieses Krieges.
Niemand versteht diesen Krieg, sofern er w䨮t, es werde vor allem um die Macht der Nationen gestritten, um ihren „Lebensraum“, um í¹®í¿®omische und soziale Formen. Nicht ein materielles, sondern ein geistiges Prinzip steht in diesem Krieg auf dem Spiel. Noch sind die Fronten verworren und die Entwicklung nicht abzusehen. Auf der einen Seite kaempft der radikale Nihilismus, der im Menschen nicht mehr Gottes Ebenbild sieht, sondern eine amoralische Maschine in einer voellig sinnlosen Welt. Auf der anderen, auf unserer Seite, kä°ft die metaphysische, die religiíºŽíµ Conception des Lebens, die Ü¢erzeugung, dass dieser Kosmos vom Geiste verschaffen ist und geistiger Sinn daher jedes Atom durchstroemt.
„Das Lied der Bernadette“ ist ein jubelnder Hymnus auf diesen geistigen Sinn der Welt. An einen holden einfachen Beispiel wird gezeigt, wie selbst mitten in unserm skeptischen Zeitalter die gíº“í´¬ichen Kraefte wirken und ein unwissendes, aber geniales Geschoepf hoch ueber das gewoehnliche Mass hinausheben. Obwohl die Geschichte unterm katholischen Volke spielt, bleibt sie nicht gebunden an den Katholizismus, sondern geht gleichermassen alle an, Protestanten und Juden, alle Menschen, deren Herz offen ist fuer den Anhauch der Goettlichen Kraefte in der Wirklichkeit des Lebens.
Ich weiss nicht, ob es mir gelungen ist, ein besonders gutes Buch zu schreiben. Eines aber weiss ich gewiss: Der Leser wird durch das Verdienst und Mittlertum meiner Heldin Bernadette Soubirous Gaben des Trostes und der Aufrichtung empfangen, die er in einem andern und vielleicht besseren Roman nicht finden wuerde.
Franz Werfel
TRANSLATION
Franz Werfel is in no psychologizing nor theorizising, in no way programmatic nor focused on the contemporary as something special. Werfel’s construction does not stem from analyses, nor from psychology, and not from a programme either. The old Latin principle “Individuum est inefabile” – the individual cannot be put into words always dominated him. He wanted to construct what cannot be put into words.
Draft for a preface to “The song of Bernadette”
Kind readers who already know my book assure me this is one of my most thrilling stories. They devoured the novel and could not put it down, even though the subject – the encounter between a young girl and a mysterious lady, the battle of the girl against a whole world, a whole epoch – might, at the beginning, have sound very strange indeed. As pleasant as this statement sounds to the ear of this writer, this could arise suspicion that there is no “meaning” in my book, no “message”, and I might merely have transformed an interesting, extraordinary subject into escapist entertainment. “No” must I reply to this suspicion, despite the dramatization of my novel, despite the artistic decision to comment and reflect as little as possible, none of my books, even “The forty days of Musa Dagh” contains more message and meaning than “The Song of Bernadette”. I am firmly convinced that I wrote a topical book, even though the story ends in the year 1933. I was aware that I wrote a clearly topical book, a battle-book of this (second world) war. None understands this war. When they mention it, it is about nation power, territorial expansion, about economic and social structures. Not a material but a spiritual principle is at stake in this war. At the moment, the frontline are confused and one cannot foresee future developments. On the one hand, there is radical nihilism, which does no longer see the person as the image of God but an amoral machine in a completely meaningless world. On the other, on our side, there is the metaphysical, conception of life – the firm conviction that the cosmos was created by the spirit, hence spiritual meaning flowing in every atom.
The song of Bernadette is a joyful hymn to this spiritual meaning of the world. A comely simple example shows how even in our sceptical times divine forces have an effect and a creature with no knowledge but much genius, which is lifted high above the common ground. Even though the story unfolds amongst the Catholic people, it is not bound to the Catholic religion but relevant for us all, Protestants, Jews and all people whose heart is open for the inspiration of divine forces in the reality of life.
I do not know if I was successful writing a good book, I certainly know one thing: The readers will receive a gift of consolation and resilience through the merits and mediation of my heroine Bernadette Soubirou, and that might not be found in another and maybe better novel.
Franz Werfel.
Franz Werfel was sensitive writer and poet, able to craft the form and give a content. His early poetry was filled with sadness and beautifully written. Unlike many people for whom sadness is a poise or an attire, and the world of literature and arts is full with posers, it stands at the core of his personality and his work. Franz Werfel wanted to end sadness, bring consolation – and so he was an idealist, who often stood before shattered dreams, and much sorrow.
His fascination for Catholic spirituality certainly derives from that Prague-born poet Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1924). Rilke’s poetry is at home with the ideals of the Prague Renaissance, the Franciscan spirituality, the ideals of Comenius and, his contemporary Thomas Mazaryk. Perhaps the best way to illustrate the similarity of minds is to quote “The Marked Man” by Franz Werfel, in German with the excellent translation by Leonard Forster (Penguin Books 1967), and “Ernste Stunde” by Rilke (my own adaptation). …
To place Rilke and Werfel into the context of their time and place, a place where they were born and and later left to become Bohemian seekers – Rilke travelling to Switzerland and Italy, Werfel emigrating to the USA.,
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Das Lied des Gezeichneten (Franz Werfel)
Wenn dich der Tod beruehrt hat,
Bist du nicht mehr beliebt,
Eh er dich abgefuehrt hat,
Wirst du schon ausgesiebt.
Du warst ein muntrer Kunde
Du spieltest schoen Klavier.
Nun rueckt die Freundesrunde
Geheimnisvoll von dir.
Einst hat man dich gepriesen
Wie standest du im Saft
Jetzt wirst du strenge verwiesen
In deine Einzelhaft.
Die Wangen wurden kleiner,
Die Augen wurden gross.
Vielleicht fragt Irgendeiner:
Was ist mit dem nur los?
Bevor du wirst dich stricken
Zur letzten Nacht bereit,
Muss du den Zwieback schmecken
Der Ausgestossenheit.
Und eh du darfst einsinken
Dem leergwordenen Kreis,
Bekamst du laengst zu trinken
Des Weltraums Aether-Eis.
(The marked man . When death has touched you, no one likes you any more, by the time he takes you away you have already been separated out..
You used to be a happy fellow, you played the piano well, now your circle of friends mysteriously withdraws from you.
Once people used to praise the way you looked so vigorous, now you are sternly sent into your solitary confinement.
Your cheeks have grown smaller, your eyes have grown bigger. Perhaps somebody asks: “What IS the matter with him?”
Before you lied down ready for the last night you have to taste the dry biscuit of ostracism.
And before you can be allowed to disappear from the now empty circle, you will long ago have had to drink the ether-ice of interstellar space.
(translation: Leonard Forster (1957) Penguin Books Harmondsworth/England)
Ernste Stunde (Rainer Maria Rilke)
Published by Insel Verlag, Germany
Wer jetzt weint irgendwo in der Welt,
Ohne Grund weint in der Welt,
Weint ueber mich.
Wer jetzt lacht irgendwo in der Nacht,
Ohne Grund lacht in der Nacht,
Lacht mich aus.
Wer jetzt geht irgendwo in der Welt,
Ohne Grund geht in der Welt,
Geht zu mir.
Wer jetzt stirbt irgendwo in der Welt,
Ohne Grund stirbt in der Welt
Sieht mich an.
Serious Hour
(Whoever weeps now somewhere in the world
without reason, weeps in the world
weeps because of me.
Whoever laughs now somewhere in the night
Without reason laughs in the night
Laughs at me
Whoever goes now somewhere in the world
Without reason goes in the world,
Goes to me.
Whoever dies now somewhere in the world
Without reason, dies in the world
Looks at me.
(translated by D.A. Hoffman, May 2003)
I thought in times when the world is getting more radical, sectarian, nihilist and commercial at the same time, it would be a change, or a challenge to read about how various idealistic people tried to bridge the gap between cultures, seeking truth and beauty and the unspeakeable – and giving a message about hope in the darkness of despair. Franz Werfel was a seeker for spirituality and he put the unspeakable into beautiful world, showing us the richness of a human being. Franz Werfel whose heart cared for the lonely, the innocents, the victims, the seekers never fails to touch me as a reader. back to index page
The Prague circle:
Franz Kafka - strange bird?
Johannes Urzidil : Children of the wasteland
Max Brod, Bohemian looking at stars
Milena Jesenska - courageous reporter
Karel Capek: The future is crystal clear
Egon Erwin Kish - the roving reporter
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