“Kirschrot funkelnder Almadin”: The Petrification of Love, Knowledge, and Memory in the Legend of Falun John T. Hamilton Harvard University Abstract: The discovery of a perfectly preserved corpse in the mines of Falun instigated a series of literary elaborations from the 18th to the 20th century. In focusing on E. T. A. Hoffmann’s rendering, the present essay explores the implicit relationship between persons and things—a relationship that is dynamically shared and therefore less strictly dichotomous� This confusion of animate beings and inanimate things underwrites a conception of life itself, namely as that which resists the fatal reassertion of the difference between the organic and the inorganic� Keywords: Persons and Things, Phenomenology, Romanticism, Gemstones, Neptunism Whereas legal and moral theories have long operated on the premise that human beings are not things, anthropological and psychoanalytic studies continue to demonstrate that this particular distinction, however obvious or incontestable it may appear from a commonsensical perspective, does not necessarily hold for imagined and affective experiences. A broad array of societal practices and rituals correspond to individual cases of uncanniness and fetishism, insofar as they unwork the dichotomy between the animate and the inanimate, whether by endowing material objects with subjective agency or by assessing the human, physical body as a lifeless res extensa. Regarding the latter, it bears noting that phenomenological descriptions, from Edmund Husserl onward, consistently view the human body directly on that vague threshold between internal consciousness and external object, as that which fails to appear as entirely coincident either with personal subjectivity or with the world of things. 1 My body is neither immanently internal to my consciousness nor is it merely an external, transcendent object in the environment. Rather, it appears to occupy 190 John T. Hamilton the border zone between subjectivity and objectivity. Moreover, my body is not entirely a concrete entity (since it is my body and thus the locale of my consciousness), nor is it merely an abstract essence (my embodied existence is not merely an abstract thought about having a body). For precisely these reasons, the human body raises serious problems for phenomenological description. Yet, such accounts not only specify the double nature of lived experience, both as cognitive beings and sensory bodies, but also underscore how the human body participates in thingly reality, how thingliness shares aspects with embodied consciousness just as consciousness shares certain qualities with matter that would otherwise be purported to be unconscious. In the context of literary history, the shared and therefore less strictly dichotomous relationship between persons and things—between the animate and the inanimate—received a paradigmatic expression in the story that first emerged in 1720, when journalists in Copenhagen reported the discovery of a petrified corpse near the iron mines of Falun, Sweden. 2 According to the investigation, it was quickly ascertained that the victim had been buried alive in an explosion some fifty years before. The spectacular discovery of a young man, retrieved from the depths and perfectly preserved in vitriolic solution, was at once imbued with sentimental poignancy, when an old woman, who claimed to have been the miner’s fiancée, arrived on crutches to claim the body. Throughout the remainder of the eighteenth century, the “legend of Falun” circulated across Northern Europe, fascinating audiences with its unusual tale of victory over time, both by means of the cadaver’s petrification and by means of the fiancée’s undying memory. Yet, the coincidence of the woman’s untarnished fidelity and the man’s physical preservation underground barely concealed a fundamental ambiguity. On the one hand, the touching story of love was emblematic of a kind of human persistence—one grounded in emotional commitment—that could defy mortal mutability. On the other hand, the unbroken connection between the two lovers invariably implied the troubling continuity or frightening proximity of animate life and inanimate nature, which threatened to override core distinctions between the living and the non-living, between the warmth of the heart and the frigidity of stone. By collocating the power of loving memory and the durability of the soulless human frame, the legend of Falun would therefore occasion an uncomfortable reassessment of the comforting division between the realm of the human and the realm of things� It comes as no surprise that this ambivalent tale of preservation and reunion went on to captivate the romantic imagination of German writers at the beginning of the following century. In 1808, Heinrich von Kleist and Adam Müller published a lecture by the philosopher Gotthilf Heinrich Schubert, who worked the legend into his Ansichten von der Nachtseite der Naturwissenschaft � Schubert The Petrification of Love, Knowledge, and Memory in the Legend of Falun 191 indulgently embellishes the recognition scene in order to underscore the contrast between human decrepitude and inorganic processes of corporeal preservation� Denn als um den kaum hervorgezogenen Leichnam, das Volk, die unbekannten jugendlichen Gesichtszüge betrachtend steht, da kömmt an Krücken und mit grauem Haar ein altes Mütterchen, mit Trähnen über den geliebten Toten, der ihr verlobter Bräutigam gewesen, hinsinkend, die Stunde segnend, da ihr noch an den Pforten des Grabes ein solches Wiedersehen gegönnt war, und das Volk sahe mit Verwunderung die Wiedervereinigung dieses seltnen Paares, davon das Eine, im Tode und in tiefer Gruft das jugendliche Aussehen, das Andre, bey dem Verwelken und Veralten des Leibes die jugendliche Liebe, treu und unverändert erhalten hatte, und wie bey der 50jährigen Silberhochzeit der noch jugendliche Bräutigam starr und kalt, die alte und graue Braut voll warmer Liebe gefunden wurden. (215-16) Unembarrassed by tearful sentimentality, Schubert underscores the distinction between the bridegroom’s cold stiffness and the bride’s warm love, between the senescence of the living and the perpetual youth of the dead. The surprising recognition scene constitutes an intimate moment where the animate and the inanimate meet. Schubert’s elaboration would continue to inform subsequent retellings, which appeared in rapid succession: Achim von Arnim’s Des ersten Bergmanns ewige Jugend (1810), Johann Peter Hebel’s Unverhofftes Wiedersehen (1811), and E. T. A. Hoffmann’s Die Bergwerke zu Falun (1819). It is Hoffmann’s much-expanded version, incorporated into his Serapions - Brüder collection, that would enjoy an especially rich literary and musical afterlife, providing the basis for Friedrich Rückert’s lyric Die goldene Hochzeit (1820), a full libretto by Richard Wagner, Hugo von Hofmannsthal’s drama, Das Bergwerk zu Falun (1899), and Georg Trakl’s Elis poems (1914), up to and including Franz Führmann’s Die Glöckchen (1984)� 3 This storied conquest over time—this legend of a revocable past—readily proved itself to be impervious to the effects of oblivion. The vitriolic solution that preserved the young bridegroom’s body in the depths of the iron mine rhymed well with the vitriol or iron sulfate commonly used in the production of the writer’s ink. 4 The legend’s lasting allure is no doubt tied to its promise of utopian timelessness. Ernst Bloch, referring specifically to Hebel’s narrative, marveled at its “real infusion of the present in the distant past, and the intertwining of both times that can never be repeated.” For Bloch, therefore, this story “has no equal” (150). The singular incomparability of the tale underscores that the idea of eternity, particularly among Romantic thinkers, is consistently regarded as an absolute “moment”—unrepeatable in itself, insofar as it transcends all temporal linearity. The past is revocable because the past has not passed. In this timeless point of 192 John T. Hamilton time, the fifty-year story of unbroken devotion collapses into a single moment and the reader is thereby invited to glimpse at the hyperreality of things sub specie aeternitatis. However, as John Neubauer reminds us, the Romantic quest for such moments can always be understood in two distinct ways. On the one hand, there is the idealist interpretation, presented by Novalis and Schelling, who describe the moment as a “perfect withdrawal into the self,” whereby the “empirical self finally gains access to the enduring and pure transcendental self buried in it.” This is precisely the discovery of the “Weltall in uns” of which Novalis frequently speaks. On the other hand, there is the pantheist interpretation, generally ascribed to Spinoza, which is based on “a complete surrender of the ego to nature” (Neubauer 475 f.) The Romantic obsession with mines and caves, with descent and retrieval, not only speaks to the persistence of the Orphic quest, but also to the ambiguity of the quest for temporal transcendence: the idealist inclination reads the story figuratively, whereby the descent into the depths illustrates the search for pure, absolute consciousness; while the pantheist inclination reads the story literally, insofar as it signals the return of organic consciousness to the dead realm of the inorganic (Neubauer 476)� The non-distinction of human life and inorganic nature may thus spell two very different forms of transcendence: either the universal inflation of the ego or its utter deflation in cold, lifeless matter. These two alternatives generally undermine any simple interpretation of the alluring tale� Although Schubert’s investigation into the “night-side of natural science” aimed to promote an organic knowledge in place of a mechanistic worldview, his recounting of the legend of Falun contradicts his principal thesis on the dynamic vitality of nature; for here, nature visibly comes forth as a formidable opponent to humankind: the fiancée preserves the memory of her love, but only as a debilitated old woman on the brink of death (“an den Pforten des Grabes”); and her lover’s body is preserved from decomposition, but only as lifeless, stone-cold material (“starr und kalt”). Hebel’s version attempts to circumvent this fatality, first by highlighting the personal story of the young couple and then by turning the rediscovery of the corpse into a promise for a more viable, eternal reunion in the afterlife. The couple’s love is shown to be indifferent to time, including the time of historical events, which are paratactically catalogued beneath the dismissive rubric of a “meanwhile”: Unterdessen wurde die Stadt Lissabon in Portugal durch ein Erdbeben zerstört, und der Siebenjährige Krieg ging vorüber, und Kaiser Franz der Erste starb, und der Jesuitenorden wurde aufgehoben und Polen geteilt, und die Kaiserin Maria Theresia starb, und der Struensee wurde hingerichtet, Amerika wurde frei, und die vereinigte französische und spanische Macht konnte Gibraltar nicht erobern. (129) The Petrification of Love, Knowledge, and Memory in the Legend of Falun 193 The relentless march of time fails to compromise the loving devotion that persists on the margins of world history. All the same, Hebel’s portrayal, like Schubert’s, can preserve this love only by reinforcing the absence of life, if not by means of Schubert’s nature, than by means of eschatology—by reserving the absolute moment for immortality, which, of course, is but a euphemism for death. As the aged woman watches the corpse of her beloved being lowered into the grave, she whispers a provisional farewell: “Schlafe nun wohl, noch einen Tag oder zehn im kühlen Hochzeitbett, und laß dir die Zeit nicht lange werden. Ich habe nur noch wenig zu tun und komme bald, und bald wird’s wieder Tag” (131)� The contrast between human life and inorganic nature, including the tension between the perishability and the persistence of human love, becomes mythically explicit and all the more complicated when Achim von Arnim introduces a seductive “Königin der dunklen Welt,” who represents a formidable rival to the faithful, earthbound fiancée. As in the medieval tale of Tannhäuser—as in Goethe’s Erlkönig , Novalis’s Hyacinth und Rosenblüte , Tieck’s Runenberg , Fouqué’s Undine , and Eichendorff’s Marmorbild —the male protagonist is caught on an existential threshold between the love for a mortal woman and the love for the immortal feminine. With Arnim, the legend of Falun traps the young man between the charms of a good, Christian life and the pagan appeal of precious stones hidden in the recesses of the earth. The underworld of the mine exerts a magical, powerful influence, tempting the naive youth to explore the secrets locked within: “So komm zur Kühlung mit hinunter! ” Die Königin, ihm schmeichelnd, sagt, “Da unten blüht die Hoffnung bunter Wo bleichend sich das Grün versagt. Dort zeige ich dir große Schätze, Die reich den lieben Eltern hin, Die streichen da nach dem Gesetze, Wie ich dir streiche übers Kinn.” So rührt sie seiner Sehnsucht Saiten, Die Sehnsucht nach der Unterwelt, Gar schöne Melodien leiten Ihn in ihr starres Lagerzelt. (617) Representing a force of nature promising hidden knowledge, the Queen of the Dark World inspires a longing that is both irresistible and perfectly fatal. Arnim’s Queen offers the hope of durability, unbothered by the march of mortal time. All the while, however, the world above continues to exert a fatal irresist- 194 John T. Hamilton ibility of its own. Indeed, with psychological acuity, Arnim portrays the two realms as analogous, not because the inorganic world cannot be distinguished from human life, but because both spheres are equally marred by vanity, envy, and greed. The young man is faced with an unusually difficult decision because the options display values that unite the two realms rather than clearly divide them� When Hoffmann prepared his recounting of the legend for his Serapions - Brüder collection, he not only assumed the tensions inherent in the earlier versions, but also sought to lend the story even more concrete reality. This approach clearly adheres to Hoffmann’s “Serapiontic Principle,” whereby the visionary intensity of an otherwise unknown and latent realm depends on its contrast to and implication in quotidian life. To this end, Hoffmann based the opening pages of Die Bergwerke zu Falun on two recent travelogues of Sweden, one by the geologist Johann Friedrich Hausmann ( Reise durch Skandinavien in den Jahren 1806 bis 1807 ) and the other by Ernst Moritz Arndt ( Reise durch Schweden im Jahre 1804 ) (Kramer 276-77). From these published materials, Hoffmann gleaned enough place names, social customs, and local details to render the world of the living more palpably visible and therefore distinguish it all the more starkly from the reclusive nightside of the underworld� Accordingly, Hoffmann’s narrator opens the story by conjuring the bustling harbor of Götaborg, where a ship of the East India Company has just docked. A rowdy drinking festival—a Hönsning—greets the disembarking crew, producing a colorful, vivacious scene, lighthearted and irreverent. Against the foil of this loud celebration of life, a quiet, sulking sailor, Elis Fröbom, gradually comes into view. It is a focusing device that Hoffmann often employs, beginning with his first published story, Ritter Gluck , by which a broad panoramic view of society is established and then relinquished in favor of an excluded, rather eccentric figure. Here, Elis Fröbom is depicted as emotionally detached and inconsolably melancholic. Having already lost his father at sea and his two brothers in war, he just suffered the shock of learning that his mother had also passed away only months before his return from sea� A mysterious old miner by the name of Torbern spots the grieving young sailor, comments on his isolation from the crowd, and suggests that he travel to Falun to work in the marvelous caverns beneath the earth’s surface� The young man’s initial reaction dismisses the suggestion with repulsion—“Was ratet Ihr mir? Von der schönen freien Erde, aus dem heitern sonnenhellen Himmel, der mich umgibt, labend, erquickend, soll ich hinaus - hinab in die schauerliche Höllentiefe und dem Maulwurf gleich wühlen? ” (Hoffmann 215-16). As in Novalis’s Hyacinth und Rosenblüte , the attraction lies in the promise of knowledge: The Petrification of Love, Knowledge, and Memory in the Legend of Falun 195 So ist nun das Volk, es verachtet das, was es nicht zu erkennen vermag. Schnöder Gewinn! Als ob alle grausame Quälerei auf der Oberfläche der Erde, wie sie der Handel herbeiführt, sich edler gestalte als die Arbeit des Bergmanns, dessen Wissenschaft, dessen unverdrossenem Fleiß die Natur ihre geheimsten Schatzkammern erschließt. (Hoffmann 214-15) The bizarre, old miner continues to inflame the young man’s imagination by describing the world of gemstones that glisten in the darkness—figures of life within the realm of lifelessness: “Das Gestein lebte auf, die Fossile regten sich, der wunderbare Pyrosmalith, der Almandin blitzten im Schein der Grubenlichter - die Bergkrystalle leuchteten und flimmerten durcheinander” (215). Both the pyrosmalite and the almandine (a type of carbuncle) allude to the fiery brightness contained in the cold stone. Yet, it is not only the allure of treasured knowledge—not only the miner’s seductive pyrotechnics—that ultimately persuades the grieving sailor, but also the hope for returning to something lost. The promise of imminent disclosure (“erschließt”) discloses an intimate past: “Es war ihm [Elis] wieder, als habe ihm der Alte eine neue unbekannte Welt erschlossen, in die er hineingehörte, und aller Zauber dieser Welt sei ihm schon zur frühsten Knabenzeit in seltsamen geheimnisvollen Ahnungen aufgegangen” (215-16). The path that leads into the mines augurs a mystical reunion with past childhood, its magical enticement clearly linked to a desire to return to a maternal realm, to the source of all things. Elis’s profitable adventures at sea aimed to “pour golden ducats into his mother’s lap—“dem Mütterchen die Dukaten in den Schoß geschüttet” (213)—and now as a miner, he can enter the “Schoß” or womb directly. By innovatively portraying Elis as a sailor, Hoffmann positions the young man between two abysses, between the wild inconstancy of the sea and the petrifying darkness of the mines. Left entirely alone on earth, the Seemann impulsively decides to become a Bergmann , abandoning one isolating career for another. Elis’s path thereby rehearses the Neptunist geology promoted by Abraham Gottlob Werner—himself an inspector of mines in Saxony—who worked to demonstrate how the earth’s rocks and minerals were formed by a process of crystallization from the oceans that once covered the entire surface of the globe� 5 The Neptunist passage from water to stone was fully adopted in Schubert’s Nachtseite as well as in Schelling’s Naturphilosophie , where it is further developed into a narrative about the long process of spiritualization. 6 In this view, the vital, oceanic fluidity remains latent in the hard rock, which is subsequently cut or wounded, yielding to plant life and then to animal life, before striving, through human cognition, toward the pure spirit of self-consciousness. As a result, the inorganic should no longer be regarded as opposed to organic 196 John T. Hamilton life, but rather the two poles should be conceived as belonging together in a continuous, generative relationship. Schelling’s metaphysical plotline of continuity is perfectly illustrated by the central dream sequence in Hoffmann’s story, where Elis dreams he is again at sea beneath a dark, cloudy sky. Gazing beneath the waves, Elis sees his vessel melt away, which leaves him “auf dem Krystallboden,” beholding “über sich ein Gewölbe von schwarz flimmerndem Gestein” (216). As he proceeds through the cavern, the crystal mass begins to swirl. Wonderful plants and flowers sprout from the rock, then transform into glistening metal shoots. Their intertwining splendor fades into a vision of “beautiful maidens”: […] unzähliche holde jungfräuliche Gestalten, die sich mit weißen glänzenden Armen umschlungen hielten, und aus ihren Herzen sproßten jene Wurzeln, jene Blumen und Pflanzen empor, und wenn die Jungfrauen lächelten, ging ein süßer Wohllaut durch das weite Gewölbe, und höher und freudiger schossen die wunderbaren Metallblüten empor. (217) At this point in the dream, the uncanny old miner, Torbern, suddenly appears, commanding Elis to penetrate further into the depths: “Hinab - hinab zu euch! ” Torbern, who has now grown to a gigantic height, introduces the majestic queen of the mines. Yet, almost simultaneously, Elis notices a cleft in the rock overhead: a gentle, youthful hand reaches down toward him, while out of the wounded stone below his mother’s voice calls his name. He is thus caught between rival attractions, situated at either end along a vertical axis. Elis longs to be taken up—“Ich gehöre doch der Oberwelt an und ihrem freundlichen Himmel” (217), but, with conflicted will, he stares into the queen’s immobile face, utterly captivated, and feels “sein Ich” dissolve in the “glänzenden Gestein” (218). In this way, the tempting path to self-discovery ends in a Vulcanist nightmare. Goethe’s Faust, who likewise faces the predicament between human ties and demonic forces, is similarly caught between Neptunist and Vulcanist arguments� The vivid dream continues to haunt Elis for the remainder of the story. As soon as he arrives in Falun, he meets Ulla Dahlsjö, the daughter of the local alderman, who is immediately recognized as the gentle youth who tried to retrieve him from the mines in his dream� The young man remains torn between the realm of mankind, which constitutes a state of freedom, and the realm of inorganic nature, which constitutes a state of necessity—between the promise of infinite love for a beautiful, earthbound maiden and the promise of the infinite knowledge locked away in the precious stones below. Both the queen, who offers untold secrets, and Ulla, who offers untold marital bliss, are replicated in the figure of the once living and now dead mother. The Petrification of Love, Knowledge, and Memory in the Legend of Falun 197 Despite his obsession with the subterranean vaults—or perhaps because he willfully longs to be free from the magnetic pull of the underworld—Elis proposes marriage to Ulla. For weeks, he refuses to leave her side, determined not to enter the mines. Yet, on the wedding day, when he approaches his bride, his appearance is shocking, with his eyes resembling the fiery gemstones of the netherworld: “todbleich, dunkel sprühendes Feuer in den Augen” (236). He abruptly explains that he must retrieve a “cherry-red sparkling almandine”— “ein kirschrot funkelnder Almandin” (236)—which Elis believes is the only fitting wedding present. Er ist schöner als der herrlichste blutrote Karfunkel, und wenn wir in treuer Liebe verbunden hineinblicken in sein strahlendes Licht, können wir es deutlich erschauen, wie unser Inneres verwachsen ist mit dem wunderbaren Gezweige das aus dem Herzen der Königin im Mittelpunkt der Erde emporkeimt. (236-37) Again, the almandine, first conjured in Torbern’s opening speech, is a particularly special type of carbuncle, named after the “hot coal,” which it resembles. Here, the fiery gem assumes a symbolic role, representing an ideal combination of love and knowledge. With this singular wedding gift, Elis believes he can somehow combine the realms below and above, and thereby remedy the split that he suffers. Yet this belief is a fatal mistake: As he enters the mine to retrieve the jewel, there is a catastrophic explosion and Elis disappears within. The tragedy is already implicit in the gemstone’s legendary lore. According to Pliny the Elder, when sprinkled with water, the carbuncle is known to burst into flames ( contra aquis perfusae exardescunt )� 7 Fatefully, Ulla beseeched Elis “mit heißen Tränen” to stay away from the mines, yet the vital fluidity of life—the alchemy of fire and water, manifest in the bride’s hot tears—dooms the couple to lifelessness� In a brief epilogue, the narrator recounts the discovery of Elis’s perfectly preserved corpse fifty years later. The aged Ulla, who has placed flowers at the entrance to the mineshaft every year on the planned wedding day, arrives at the scene, falls upon her bridegroom’s petrified body and breathes out her last, as the corpse crumbles to dust. Both Elis and Ulla have triumphed over time—Elis by means of petrification and Ulla by means of loyal memory—yet this triumph, grounded in the possible conjunction of love and knowledge, decomposes before our very eyes. Elis dreamed of securing his love for Ulla with the endurance of the mineral world, yet it is precisely this allure of permanence that permanently robs the couple of their life together. With the “cherry-red sparkling almandine,” Elis thought that he could immortalize their love, that he could unlock the vital energy hidden within the stone, fully unaware that it is mortality alone that would have saved the couple’s life. 198 John T. Hamilton Mortality reimposes itself only when the division between persons and things is reasserted and their hidden, common nature is dutifully suppressed. Human mortality cannot abide the indifference of the organic and the inorganic, persons and things. The legend of Falun, particularly in Hoffmann’s rendition, gives voice to this otherwise suppressed notion, both exhilarating and terrifying, that humanity may transcend the very limits that define humanity, but only by assuming a mineral, inhuman permanence. The revocation of the past, which denies the force of the No-Longer, as well as the evocation of the future, which opens onto the Not-Yet, marks an achievement that may be more insidious than one ascribed to most tyrannies. Even if she does not explicitly threaten to take away Elis’s life, the Queen of the Underworld still poses a significant menace—a menace that is, in the end, much graver—namely, the threat of taking away the young man’s death� Notes 1 See, e.g., Husserl 151-54. 2 The report first appeared in Nye Tidender om lärde Sager (20 July 1720) and in Extrait des Nouvelles (Sept. 1720). See Gold 107-08. 3 For the nineteenth-century texts see Reuschel 1-28 and Heinisch 134-53. See also Weiner� 4 Many of the versions explicitly mention the vitriolic solution that preserved the buried corpse, for example “Eisenvitriol” (Schubert, Nachtseite 215) and “Vitriolwasser” (Hebel, Unverhofftes Wiedersehen 129)� 5 For a comprehensive overview see Ospovat. 6 See Rupke. 7 Pliny 244-45. Works Cited Arnim, Achim von. “Des ersten Bergmanns ewige Jugend.” Gräfin Dolores � Werke in sechs Bänden. Ed. Hermann Weiss. Vol. 1. Frankfurt a. M.: Deutscher Klassiker Verlag, 1989. Bloch, Ernst. “Afterword to Hebel’s Schatzkästlein �” Literary Essays � Trans� Andrew Joron� Stanford: Stanford UP , 1998. Gold, Helmut. Erkenntnisse unter Tage: Bergbaumotive in der Literatur der Romantik. Wiesbaden: Springer, 1990. Hebel, Johann Peter Hebel. “Unverhofftes Wiedersehen.” Unverhofftes Wiedersehen und andere Geschichten aus dem Schatzkästlein des rheinischen Hausfreundes . Ed. Winfried Stephan. Zurich: Diogenes, 2009. The Petrification of Love, Knowledge, and Memory in the Legend of Falun 199 Heinisch, Klaus. Deutsche Romantik: Interpretationen. Paderborn: Schöningh, 1966. Hoffmann, E. T. A. Die Serapionsbrüder. Sämtliche Werke in sechs Bänden . Ed. Wulf and Ursula Segebrecht. Vol. 4. Frankfurt a. M.: Deutsche Klassiker Verlag, 2001. Husserl, Edmund. Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology and to a Phenomenological Philosophy. Second Book: Studies in the Phenomenology of Constitution. Trans. Richard Rojcewicz and André Schuwer. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1989. Kramer, Detlef. E. T. A. Hoffmann: Leben - Werk - Wirkung . Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010. Neubauer, John. “The Mines of Falun: Temporal Fortunes of a Romantic Myth of Time.” Studies in Romanticism 19 (1980): 475-95. Ospovat, Alexander. “The Importance of Regional Geology in the Geological Theories of Abraham Gottlob Werner: A Contrary Opinion.” Annals of Science 37�4 (1980): 433-41. Pliny� Natural History. Trans. D. E. Eichholz. Vol. 10: Books 36-37. Cambridge, MA : Harvard UP , 1962. Reuschel, Karl. “Über Bearbeitungen der Geschichte des Bergmanns von Falun.” Studien zur vergleichenden Literaturgeschichte 3 (1903): 1-28. Rupke, N. A. “The Study of Fossils in the Romantic Philosophy of History and Nature.” History of Science 21.4 (1983): 389-413. Schubert, Gotthilf Heinrich. Ansichten von der Nachtseite der Naturwissenschaft � Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1967. Weiner, Marc. “Richard Wagner’s Use of E. T. A. Hoffmann’s ‘The Mines of Falun’.” 19th-Century Music 5.3 (1982): 201-14.