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Lee Czerw

Kraft und Saft: Modeling Germanness in Die Adriatische Rosemund

Leo Cholevius, the first researcher to write at length about Philipp von Zesen’s Die Adriatische

Rosemund (1645), claimed that the work is the first German “Familienroman.” This is true only

superficially, for while a love affair does form the skeletal framework of the novel, equal if not

greater space is devoted to digressions of various types: lyric poetry, novella-like anecdotes,

architectural descriptions, and a lengthy scholarly excursus concerning the histories of Venice

and Germany. Despite the bourgeois setting and characters, therefore, Die Adriatische

Rosemund in many ways more closely resembles the encyclopedic and heroic romances of

Madeleine de Scudéry—of whom Zesen was the first German translator—than it does the 18th

century psychological novel, or even La Princesse de Clèves. Furthermore, another theme can

be said to be just as prominent as that of love—that of the German nation and character.

Merlin-Kajman argues in Public et littérature that the drama of Early Modern France was

an attempt to create a type of public sphere through the medium of theater, since absolutism

precluded other, more direct forms of civic participation. Philipp von Zesen, as earlier scholars

have argued (c.f. Rau 1994: 69 et passim), consciously undertook an equally ambitious mission:

creating a German national identity through literature, including Die Adriatische Rosemund, his

earliest novel. Zesen was also a prolific poet and an ardent language reformer, the latter

perhaps being what he is best known for today. In his zeal to purge the German language of

foreign influence and to regularize its written form, Zesen coined many new terms as
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substitutes for Latin and French loanwords and invented his own orthography, which differed

considerably from the evolving conventions of the time (c.f. Kühlmann 2006: 680; Kaczerowsky

1969: 134-164). Both types of language reform are employed throughout Die Adriatische

Rosemund. An appendix attached to the original edition of the novel explains Zesen’s often

eccentric neologisms for the benefit of his contemporaries: for example, “tage-leuchter” [day-

lighter] is used in place of Fenster/fänster [window] (AR: 337).1

The novel’s dedication likewise betrays a patriotic intention. It is addressed to Dionysius

and Mattias Palbizki, both of whom were members of the Deutschgesinnete Genossenschaft

[German-minded fraternity], a language society founded by Zesen in 1643. Zesen conflates

therein his novel with its eponymous heroine, pleading with the dedicatees to accept

Rosemund despite her foreignness and to introduce her to a “High German” audience,

particularly German women. “Rosemund” within the context of the dedication can be said to

represent the book itself, the eponymous heroine, and the new, fashionable Romance culture

exemplified by both:

Aber indässen, daß ich ihnen einige erwiderung ihrer gunst und freundschaft zu leisten
gedänke, so mus ich si zugleich noch mehr bemühen, und mich zu ihrem dihnsten vihl
verpflüchtlicher machchen, als ich schohn bin; indähm ich ihnen ein solches jung=fräulein zu
verträten anbefähle, welches noch zur zeit fremd und unbekant ist, und bei unserem hohch-
deutschen Frauen=zimmer garn in kundschaft gerahten wolte.
[But while I think to give some compensation for your grace and friendship, I must trouble you
still more and make myself much more indebted to your service than I already am; in that I give
over such a maiden to you to represent, who is still at the time foreign and unknown, and who
would gladly make the acquaintance of our High German ladies.]
The following paratext, a foreword addressed to “Dem vernünftigen Läser,” further

elaborates Zesen’s national program. Under this heading, Zesen lays out Die Adriatische

1
Page numbers refer to the most recent critical edition.
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Rosemund’s significance for national identity, declaring that since the French, the Spaniards,

and the Italians have produced praiseworthy love stories, it is time for the Germans, who have

hitherto been preoccupied with warfare and lacked mental alacrity, to do so as well. Even “di

kalten Hohch=deutschen” [the cold High Germans] (AR: 10) cannot resist Cupid’s allurements

any longer. Furthermore, the present book will serve to make the German language more

“erhoben und ausgearbeit” [elevated and elaborated]. The type of love story that Zesen will

write, however, will not only equal those of foreign cultures, but also improve upon them,

particularly with respect to their moral qualities. Unlike its predecessors, Zesen’s new model of

a love story will not be lacking in “power and juice” (kraft und saft), nor will it be too lustful

(geil) or too effete (weichlich).

This preface thus establishes a binary that will reoccur throughout the text. On the one

hand are Romance peoples, who are weichlich and too given to the presumably feminine

qualities of amorousness and chatter; on the other hand are the Germans, who are hardier,

more energetic, and therefore more virtuous than their Romance counterparts. Despite the

ostensible excellence of the Germans, however, Zesen admits that they lack certain cultural

attainments, in this case the novel or love-story, which must be imported and adapted from

supposedly inferior peoples. This would seem to indicate that Germanness could use a certain

admixture of Weichlichkeit after all, but this cannot be admitted without abandoning the claim

to superiority upon which Zesen’s nationalism is predicated. The third and final introductory

paratext, an encomiastic letter written by another member of the Deutschgesinnete

Genossenschaft, further highlights this paradox. The author praises Die Adriatische Rosemund

chiefly because it “solche räden führt/ dadurch ein höfling recht und wohl würd aus=gezihrt”
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[carries on the sort of speeches through which a courtier is really and truly ornamented] (AR:

12). The type of ideal German that the text models and trains is thus not the rugged warrior of

the Germanic past portrayed in book five, but rather a cultivated man who can thrive in the

salons of Paris or among the patricians of Amsterdam—in other words, a man like Markhold,

the novel’s largely autobiographical protagonist.

Let us now turn to the narrative itself. The “central” plot of Die Adriatische Rosemund is

relatively simple. Markhold, a German, visits at the behest of a mutual friend a Venetian family

living in Amsterdam. He falls in love with the family’s youngest daughter, Rosemund, and her

father, Sünnebald, initially welcomes the prospect of a marriage between the two. Sünnebald

stipulates as a condition of the marriage, however, that Markhold and Rosemund raise any

future daughters in the Catholic confession, and Markhold, a Protestant, is unable to agree to

this caveat. Markhold eventually leaves for Paris, which causes great distress to both him and

Rosemund; the latter, after temporarily doubting her lover’s faithfulness, resolves to lead the

life of a shepherdess. Markhold eventually returns to Amsterdam and the lovers are happily

reunited for a time, but the marriage question remains unresolved, and Markhold departs once

more. Contrary to the Heliodoran schema, the lovers continue to be separated at the novel’s

conclusion, and the ambiguous final paragraph implies that Rosemund will eventually die of

lovesickness.

Both Markhold and Rosemund are curious hybrid figures, possessing significance far

beyond the novel’s surface plot. There are many indications within and beyond the text that

Markhold is based on the author himself; not least of these is his very name, which is a calque

translation of Phillipp (see van Ingen 2013: 101). Like Zesen, Markhold is an accomplished
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polyglot poet; he also, like the author, spends much of his life as an expatriate in the

Netherlands and France. Although a “historical” Rosemund has never been identified, it is

possible that she too had an autobiographical model in Zesen’s life (see e.g. van Ingen 2013:

100-101). Biographical mysteries aside, her main significance is symbolic, as Ferdinand van

Ingen notes (ibid.). Even outside Die Adriatische Rosemund, the name Rosemund appears in

many of Zesen’s poetic and essayistic works as a figure akin to Petrarch’s Laura (ibid.); she is the

author’s muse, to whom all his efforts are addressed. She is thus the embodiment of Zesen’s

work with language, his dedication to poetry, and, on a more concrete level, his language

society, for the birth date given for Rosemund is the founding date of Zesen’s Deutschgesinnete

Genossenschaft (ibid.). On the other hand, she nevertheless remains, as the above-mentioned

dedicatory letter states, a foreigner; her origin and character as a Venetian are mentioned

repeatedly throughout the novel and never forgotten. If she is the allegorical representation of

German eloquence, it is an eloquence which has its origin in a borrowed Romance culture that

can never be completely assimilated or naturalized by Markhold/Zesen. As Rosemund herself

says: “[Ich bin] gleich mitten im Adriatischen Meer gebohren/ und den wällen […]in etwas

nahch=geahrtet” [I was born straight in the middle of the Adriatic Sea and in some respects

formed after the waves.] (AR: 112).

As the above-quoted passage shows, and Ferdinand van Ingen has, in my view,

definitively demonstrated, the portrayal of the two central lovers of Die Adriatische Rosemund

is thoroughly determined by early modern stereotypes of nationality, particularly as filtered

through early modern climate theory (see van Ingen 2008). Zesen identified the German-

speaking lands with the Northern climate zone (see Lammersen-van Deursen 2007:42), which
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was supposed to have a corresponding effect on character (“di kalten Hohch=deutschen”).

Markhold is therefore “colder” than Rosemund, unable and unwilling to give himself over

completely to love, although he remains, as the narrator constantly emphasizes (c.f. van Ingen

2008: 109) treu-beständig [loyal/constant]. He is correspondingly slow to fall in love with

Rosemund at first, initially drawn to her, as he himself admits, more out of esteem and pity

than passion (ibid.). Rosemund, on the other hand, is like the aforementioned waves in her

moods, given to extremes of love, jealousy, and grief, although publicly she is usually a model of

decorum. Near the beginning of the novel, she draws the completely irrational conclusion from

one of Markhold’s letters that he loves another woman and sent her, Rosemund, the letter by

mistake; Markhold, on the other hand, never doubts Rosemund’s loyalty and interprets her

accusations only as further proof of her devotion. Upon realizing her suspicions were

unfounded, Rosemund performs the equally extreme penance of becoming a shepherdess.

Finally, in the novel’s final pages, her love for Markhold consumes her completely as she slowly

wastes away.

Having examined the view of national character exemplified by the “main” story, I wish

now to turn the reader’s attention to the ways in which Die Adriatische Rosemund’s minor

episodes and rhetorical set-pieces attempt to create, and police the boundaries of, Zesen’s

conception of Germanness. The Härz=währt subplot epitomizes, in an admittedly very crude

and unsubtle fashion, Zesen’s understanding of the difference between Germanic and Romance

(specifically Italian and French) character (c.f. Lammersen van Deursen 2007: 42). This episode

begins during Markhold’s Parisian travels when the protagonist’s German friend, the

aforementioned Härz=währt, is challenged to a duel by an Italian (Wälscher) named Eiferich.

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Eiferich, like Rosemund herself, is prone to irrational jealousy, and falsely accuses Härz=währt

of having seduced his beloved. Härz=währt receives his enemy’s challenge in an exemplarily

heroic, and thus Germanic fashion, showing no fear whatsoever. On the contrary, he is

positively jovial, telling Markhold “nuhn wül ich meine unschuld mit höhchsten fräuden

verföchten” [now I want to fight for my innocence with the greatest joy] (AR: 93). Markhold,

for his part, likewise displays the Germanic qualities of bravery and loyalty during this crisis.

Although Markhold, as the narrator states, would much prefer to ponder the letter he has just

received from Rosemund, his sense of duty nevertheless takes precedence:

Weil er sich aber seiner pflücht erinnerte/ so wolt’ er auch gleich=wohl nicht zu=gäben/ daß
man här=nahch von ihm sagen möchte/ als wan er seinem fräunde nicht hätte beistähen
wollen: dehrgestalt, daß er sich auch straks rüstete/ und zur entscheidung oder zum streite
gefast machte. (AR: 93)
[Because he remembered his duty, he thus nevertheless did not want to allow that one would
say of him afterwards that he did not wish to stand by his friend: with the result, that he armed
himself and set his mind on a decision or a battle.]
The duel itself continues to show a stark contrast between national characters. Härz=währt

immediately challenges Eiferich to a combat with pistols, which causes the latter to react with

hesitancy and dread. Eiferich’s companions (a Frenchman and an Italian) react with even

greater cowardice and begin to tremble (fohr furcht zu zittern anfingen) (AR: 94). The narrator

is careful to note the moral and national significance of the ensuing combat:

So schauet dan nuhn al=hihr den aller=eifrichsten und aller=tapfersten zwe=strit/ dehn man
ihmals mit augen gesähen hat/ und dehn ein tapferer Deutscher und ein Libes=eifriger
Wälscher ein=ander lüfern: jener aus billiger vertähdigungen seiner ehre/ und diser aus
eingebildetem arg=wohn und lauterer schähl=sichtigkeit.
[Thus regard here now the most ardent and most brave duel that one ever saw with eyes, and
which a bold German and an amorous Italian delivered unto each other: the former out of a
rightful defense of his honor and the latter out of imagined suspicion and pure envy.]
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Härz=währt’s German friends attempt to intervene in the duel, with the result that one

of them, Lauter=muth, dies at Eiferich’s hands. This event provides for yet another study in

contrasts. The women of Lauter=muth’s social circle, who are described as “deutsche

Mänsch=göttinen” [German human-goddesses], mourn his death inconsolably, thus

demonstrating their loyalty. Eiferich’s French lover, on the other hand, who mistakenly

believes him to be dead, does not mourn him at all, but instead immediately sets her amorous

sights on Härz=währt. This prompts the narrator to conclude the entire episode with a lapidary

judgment on the national dispositions involved:

Man saget sonst ins gemein/ daß di Hohchdeutschen träu=beständig/ di Wälschen Libes-eifrig/
oder schählsichtig/ und die Franzosen leicht=sünnig sein.
[One otherwise says generally, that the High Germans are loyal/steadfast; the Italians lustful or
jealous, and the French frivolous.]

Another of the novel’s inset stories, “Di Begäbnis Der Böhmischen Gräfin und des

Wild=fangs,” similarly serves to advance Zesen’s nationalist project. In this case, Germans are

not pitted against other nationalities, but rather competing models of Germanness are pitted

against each other. Throughout the Schwank-like tale, Markhold schemes to take revenge on a

minor nobleman (a “Freiher” or baron) who has offended him on various occasions. As

Markhold himself remarks, the baron’s name, Wild=fang, is indicative of his coarseness. He

thus represents the antithesis of the cultured, bourgeois intellectual positioned Die Adriatische

Rosemund (particularly in the ethnographic digression in book five) as the ideal German.

Markhold accordingly achieves his revenge through his cultural superiority to Wild=fang.

Learning that Wild=fang loves a certain Bohemian countess, he uses his mastery of courtly
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manners, which he displays throughout the novel, to inveigle his way into the countess’ life.

The prototypically courtly skill of dissimulation serves Markhold particularly well at this

juncture:

Ich lihs mich dässen/ was ich im sünn‘ hatte/ ganz nichts märken/ und bemühete mich nuhr
über währender tahffel (da ich dan alle=zeit bei der Gräfin zu sizzen kahm) mit höchstem fleis/
daß ich durch stähtiges und frei=wülliges auf=warten ihre gunst und gnädigen wüllen erlangen
möchte. (AR p.137)
[I did not let anything of what I had in mind be noticed, and strived during the dinner (during
which I always came to sit near the countess) with the greatest diligence that I might attain her
grace and goodwill through constant and willing service.]
Eventually, the countess comes to confide in Markhold her great interest in “di deutsche Ticht=

und reim=kunst” [art of German poetry and rhyming] (AR: 168). Markhold, continuing to

dissimulate, hides his own skill in this art from the countess and lends his abilities as a poet to

Lihb=wärt, a romantic rival of Wild=fang. With the help of Markhold’s poetry, which on

Markhold’s advice he passes off as his own, Lihb=wärt succeeds in winning the heart of the

countess. Wild=fang is driven insane as a result; Markhold’s new, middle class version of

Germanness has, in other words, successfully displaced the old, uncultivated landed nobility.

The ending of the inset story presents a third model of Germanness that is also implicitly

rejected, although, as we shall see, this is more problematic than it appears at first glance. The

half-crazed Wild=fang encounters a peasant during his wanderings and is instantly smitten with

her. While the peasant girl speaks in a dialect that is evidently meant to be perceived as

inherently comic, Wild=fang speaks to her in language reminiscent of that of Die Adriatische

Rosemund itself in its more high-flown moments, quixotically employing pompous similes to

describe her beauty:

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Das blikken ihrer augen (sahgt' er) wan si ihn auf di seite anschihlete, wäre gleich wi das
lihbliche blikken der kunst- und krihgs-göttin Kluginne... Solcher-gestalt ging er fast durch alle
glider ihres ganzen leibes, und gahb ihr seine fol- und tol=brünstige libe gnugsam zu verstähen,
wan si es nuhr hätte verstähen können.
[The glance of her eyes (he said) when she glanced at him from the side, was like the lovely
glance of the art and war goddess Kluginne...thus he went through almost all the limbs of her
whole body, and gave her to understand his complete and madly ardent love, if she could only
have understood it.]
It is no wonder that the peasant girl, Wummel, is confused by this speech, since “Kluginne,” a

Germanized name for the goddess Athena, was a coinage of Zesen’s and is used nowhere

outside his own works. I would argue that Zesen is here enacting, as it were, the anticipated

reception of Die Adriatische Rosemund: like Zesen himself, Wild=fang is presenting a reformed,

self-consciously artistic version of the German language before an uncomprehending and still

insufficiently learned public. What, precisely, is being mocked here: the peasant class, the

nobility who are lacking in the education to employ poetic language competently, or even

Zesen/Markhold himself in a moment of self-deprecation? It is perhaps Wild=fang’s use of

poetic topoi on an inappropriate object that is felt to be laughable rather than his language

itself, but on the other hand, Wummel and her father are not painted in unambiguously

negative terms. Wummel shares Markhold’s judgment of Wild=fang’s behavior as foolish and

risible, which may well be meant to reflect a certain healthy peasant sense on her part.

Markhold-as-narrator describes her body and actions with images that paint her as rustic, but

not necessarily undesirable: her cheeks have the healthy glow of “röhstenden braht=würst”

[roasting bratwursts] (AR: 179) and her back is “untersäzt” [heavyset] yet hübsch [pretty], so

strong that it could carry a tower. She grins at Wild=fang “so fräundlich […] als eine kuh ihrem

kalbe” (as friendlily as a cow at her calf” (ibid.). This physical robustness is in striking contrast

to Rosemund, who grows sicklier as the novel progresses. When Markhold departs from her for
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the final time, her cheeks are described as “verblichen” [faded] (AR: 279), her hands are

“verwälket” [withered], and her mouth is “verblasset” [pale]. Rosemund likewise lacks the

emotional openness of the grinning Wummel, being so hobbled by her “angebohrne zucht und

höfliche schahm” [innate breeding and courtly modesty] that she cannot bring herself to

express her sorrows to the departing Markhold. The two peasants Wild=fang encounters are

thus, in many respects, more like the ancient Germans described in the Tacitus-influenced

historical excursus (see below) than are Markhold and Rosemund, who have thoroughly

internalized court culture. Perhaps sensing that he is unable to satisfactorily reconcile these

competing models of Germanness, Zesen has Markhold abruptly break off his narration of

Wild=fang’s misadventures at this point with the claim that he does not know what happened

to him afterwards (wi es noch dahr=mit abgelauffen ist). The inset tale of “Di Begäbnis Der

Böhmischen Gräfin und des Wild=fangs“ as a whole ends with the countess‘ reported

exclamation „Wi ist er so ein schähdlicher feind und so ein träuer fräund zu=gleich! o wi hat

man sich fohr ihm zu hüten!“ [Oh what a harmful enemy he (i.e. Markhold) is and what a true

friend at the same time! Oh, how much should one beware of him!] This serves, as it were, to

elevate Markhold back to the level of the heroic despite the picaresque content of this tale; his

“deutsche Ticht= und reim=kunst” is as formidable a weapon as a sword.

Perhaps the most significant digressions in Die Adriatische Rosemund are the historical-

cum-ethnographic descriptions of Venice and Germany in the fourth and fifth books, which in

many respects form the novel’s thematic core; indeed, it is possible that the love story itself

was conceived as a framework for this non-narrative section (see Laforge 1982: 274-275).

Rosemund and her father describe the city-state of Venice, which is portrayed as an already
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fully-formed culture that has produced innumerable examples of great art and architecture.

Even more interesting to Zesen, however, is Venice’s form of government. Zesen, through

Rosemund’s father, describes the city-state’s ruling regime in meticulous detail, taking

particular care to inform the reader of Venice’s non-absolutist sharing of powers (Laforge 1982:

256-257). At times departing from his written sources in order to further stress the city’s

“democratic” nature (ibid.), Zesen notes that the Doge is not an absolute ruler, that councils

play a key role in governing, and that the bourgeoisie is allowed to participate in the

administration of the state. As Danielle Laforge notes (Laforge 1982: 266), the report on Venice

implicitly functions as a possible model for Germany, whose politically chaotic and fractious

nature is emphasized in Markhold’s subsequent report. Markhold’s “Kurzer entwurf der alten

und izigen Deutschen” [short sketch of the old and modern Germans] emphasizes concrete

cultural or political achievements far less than does the account of Venice. The German past is

mythic and half-forgotten; the German present is inchoate and unstable, in need of new

models. The initial’s part of Zesen/Markhold’s treatise is given over to uncovering—or

inventing—the distant origins of the German people and the etymology of the demonym

“Deutsch.” According to Markhold, the name “Deutsch” is derived from the legendary hero

Tuiskon, who was the great-grandson of Noah. The word “Europe,” furthermore, derives its

name from Tuiskon’s grandfather, Jafet, who was blessed by Noah to spread his descendants

throughout that region of the world; Europe allegedly means “ein breites aus-sähen, oder eine

weite gegend” [a broad prospect, or a wide region] (AR: 241). Markhold thus makes the

Germans, in a sense, the heirs of all Europe. After his etymologically ruminations, Markhold

turns to a more “historical” account of the ancient Germans, which is based largely on Tacitus
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and emphasizes their warlike traits and uneasy relationship to authority. The ancient Germans

are portrayed as fierce warriors with certain proto-democratic tendencies:

[...] wan es aber eine schwäre sachche wahr, so kahm di ganze gemeine zusammen, und wan
das folk sein guht-dünken gesahgt hatte, so machten di führnähmsten den schlus.
[When it, however, was a weighty matter, the entire community came together, and when the
people had said its approval, the chieftains thus made the decision.]
Markhold also mentions, perhaps surprisingly, that the ancient Germans were given to singing

before battle. Though this ethnographic detail does not originate with Zesen, its placement in

Markhold’s account is suggestive; it seems likely that it is meant as a legitimation of

Markhold/Zesen’s poetic activities, hinting that they are a continuation of ancient heroic

tradition.

Germanic heroism, however, becomes more problematic once Markhold’s account

shifts to the present. The “civilizing process” has, as it were, broken down:

Aber, meine Schöne, diser angebohrne muht zu föchten, wi nüzlich und löblich er fohr disem
den Deutschen gewäsen ist, so schähdlich und verdamlich ist er ihnen wider-üm zu disen zeiten:
da sich di Deutschen Fürsten unter-einander selbst auf-räuben, und das eine teil mit den
ausländischen fölkern wider ihr eigenes vaterland in verbündnüs trit, und dässen untergang
beförtern hülfet.
[But, my beauty, this in-born predilection for fighting, however useful and praiseworthy it was
earlier for the Germans, just as harmful and condemnable is it in turn for them in these times:
since the German Princes rob each other, and one part enters into alliance with the foreign
peoples against their own fatherland and aids in furthering its downfall.]
In other words, older forms of German heroism, represented by Germanic Princes and

mercenaries, have proved unsustainable. Markhold/Zesen sees a new type of heroism

emerging, however, in the learned bourgeoisie (c.f. Laforge 1982: 274 et passim) who are

entering into the service of the nascent administrative state; it is men from this social class who

are the true heirs of ancient Germanic freedom, since “ein gelährter Jüngling hat di gröhsseste
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freiheit, als ein mänsch immer-mehr haben kan” [a learned youth has the greatest freedom that

a human can ever have] (AR: 256). Although the German lands of the present are engulfed in

the chaos of the Thirty Years War, Markhold/Zesen holds to the implicit hope that the new

educated class can reform the nation along Venetian lines, transforming Germany into a well-

administered state led by bureaucrats from the ranks of the bourgeoisie (see Laforge 1982:

275-276). Markhold himself is of course the model of the perfect Höfling who will lead the way.

A few words must now be said about the tragic ending of Die Adriatische Rosemund. As

mentioned above, Zesen’s novel, unlike his immediate French literary models, does not end in a

happy reunion or marriage between its two principal lovers. Here too, Zesen’s conception of

national character is at work; the tragic ending is an attempt to give “kraft und saft” to a

Romance literary form by rejecting that which sent trop le roman. A more romanesque

potential ending is, in fact narrated by Markhold shortly before the final pages—and tacitly

rejected. In the final inset tale of Die Adriatische Rosemund, “Eine Nider=ländische geschicht

von einer ahdlichen Jungfrauen und einen Rit=meister” [“A Dutch Story of a Noble Maiden and

a Cavalry Officer“] Markhold tells Rosemund the story of a young couple very much like

themselves, who are unable to marry because of the objections of the girl’s parents. Unlike

Markhold, however, the cavalry officer behaves like a hero of traditional romance, fighting off

the parents’ lackeys with his sword and abducting his beloved by force. The inset story also

ends in a fashion typical of romance: not only are the young man and woman happily wed, but

the latter is also able to retain her inheritance. Neither Markhold nor Rosemund attempt to

enact this story in their own lives; they seem to recognize that such things are impossible in the

soberer world they inhabit. Michael Armstrong-Roche in his 2009 study Cervantes' Epic Novel:
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Empire, Religion, and the Dream Life of Heroes in Persiles argues that the verse and prose epics

of the Renaissance were torn between the competing values of arms and love, with the tension

ultimately being resolved in favor of one of the two sides in each work (see Armstrong-Roche

2009: 167 et passim). Die Adriatische Rosemund, despite its self-designation as a

“libes=beschreibung” [love-description/story], ultimately favors the side of arms—or rather

glory in the abstract, since Markhold wields only a pen. Early in the narrative, Markhold

composes a poem in which he stresses that he is more devoted to virtue than to love and

expresses his hope for literary immortality: “schöhnheit hält mich ganz nicht auf/tugend geht

doch ihren lauf [...] meine starke Tichterei/ macht mich fohr dem tode frei” [beauty does not

delay me at all/ virtue runs its course...my strong poetry makes me free from death] (AR:38-39).

Evidently with similar intentions, Markhold increasingly withdraws from Rosemund in the

novel’s final two books, “damit er [...] seiner bücher däs zu bässer abwarten könte” [so that he

could devote himself so much the better to his books]. Like a middle class Aeneas, Markhold

abandons a personal happiness in order to pursue glory, and, as it were, found a nation through

literature. If one takes the autobiographical parallels to their logical conclusion, perhaps he

leaves Rosemund the woman to immortalize her in Die Adriatische Rosemund...

As I hope to have demonstrated, an attempt to model a certain conception of

Germanness forms a core theme of Die Adriatische Rosemund, if not its principal raison d’être.

It is, however, a vision of Germanness that is infused with contradictions and paradoxes. The

Germans are heroic in their roughness and hardiness, yet these virtuous qualities are self-

destructive; they are superior to weak Romance peoples, yet they must import their culture in

order to better themselves. The two models Zesen holds up to his “High German” readers are
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problematic in numerous respects. Markhold is the heir of the German heroic tradition, yet he

is a bourgeois gentilhomme whose heroism is confined principally to the salon; he is presented

as an exemplary lover, yet his true virtue lies in his abandonment of love. Rosemund is the

embodiment of the potential of the German language, yet she herself is not German, and is

thoroughly “Romance” in her behavior and character. It was perhaps due to these crises in

representation that Die Adriatsche Rosemund enjoyed little to no success in its own day. In a

cruel irony, Zesen would seem to have suffered the fate of Wild=fang.

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