Two hundred years ago today, Heinrich von Kleist, a giant of German literature, committed suicide at the Kleiner Wannsee near Berlin at the age of 34. For me, he is one of the grandmasters of the German language, together with Georg Büchner, Heinrich Heine, and Berthold Brecht. Goethe and Schiller are great but did not write with such density. One critic said that the masterpiece is spoiled if you take just one word away or try to add a word to one of Kleist's texts.
I want to avoid developing Kleist's biography. Many books were written on the occasion of the sad anniversary. Red Baron read: Peter Michalzik, Kleist, Dichter, Krieger, Seelensucher, Propyläen Verlag Berlin 2011.
The book cover shows the only confirmed portrait of this disturbing personality. Heinrich was a soldier, student, dropout, traveler, letter artist, farmer, soul seeker, playwright, civil servant on probation, hater of Napoleon, war correspondent, short novel writer, publisher of a literary magazine, newspaper editor, and rebel who during his whole short life was always attracted by suicide. His "problem" was that he did not want to go alone. All of his friends, although sometimes depressed like him, refused. Eventually, he found a 31-year-old married woman, a friend, cancer-stricken Henriette Vogel, who was ready to accompany him on his last journey.
I want to show some pictures I took from 12 to 15 November while attending the Kleist Festival in and around Berlin. This included a theater marathon with three pieces on three evenings: Der Prinz von Homburg, Penthesilea, and Der zerbrochene Krug (The Broken Jug), followed by nightly discussions with the director and actors.
The Maxim Gorki Theater in Berlin Unter den Linden.
On its front face is Kleist's Das Erdbeben in Chili (The Earthquake in Chile).
The Kleisthaus, where Kleist lived during his last years in Berlin
is not the original building.
The relief at the front shows a scene from Penthelisea and Kleist's profile.
The Kleistmuseum in Frankfurt on the Oder in an old manor house.
The house where Kleist was born was destroyed during the war.
A modern Kleist portrait I like most shows him as a rebel.
We experienced a sunny November morning at the Wannsee
like Heinrich and Henriette lived through before their deaths.
Kleist's memorial stone at the place where he shot Henriette first
and later killed himself.
Nun, o Unsterblichkeit bist du ganz mein! (Prinz von Homburg)
O immortality, now you are all mine!
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