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THE WORKS OF JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE

TRANSLATORS

THOMAS CARLYLE
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
SIR WALTER SCOTT
BAYARD TAYLOR

EDWARD CHAWNER
CHAS. J. SPRAGUE
LEOPOLD NOA
HENRY DALE

JOHN OXENFORD
THEODORE MARTIN
W. E. AYTOUN
E. A. BOWRING

A. J. W. MORRISON
G. H. LEWES
J. S. DWIGHT
ANNA SWANWICK

THE GOTTINGEN EDITION OF JOHANN WOLFGANG VON
GOETHE'S WORKS IS LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND COPIES,
OF WHICH THIS IS NUMBER 976

[Illustration: PICTURE OF GOETHE]

GOTTINGEN EDITION

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

TRUTH AND FICTION RELATING TO MY LIFE

JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE

TRANSLATED BY
JOHN OXENFORD

VOLUME I.

PHILADELPHIA AND CHICAGO
J. H. MOORE AND COMPANY




INTRODUCTION.

BY THOMAS CARLYLE.

It would appear that for inquirers into Foreign Literature, for all men
anxious to see and understand the European world as it lies around them,
a great problem is presented in this Goethe; a singular, highly
significant phenomenon, and now also means more or less complete for
ascertaining its significance. A man of wonderful, nay, unexampled
reputation and intellectual influence among forty millions of
reflective, serious and cultivated men, invites us to study him; and to
determine for ourselves, whether and how far such influence has been
salutary, such reputation merited. That this call will one day be
answered, that Goethe will be seen and judged of in his real character
among us, appears certain enough. His name, long familiar everywhere,
has now awakened the attention of critics in all European countries to
his works: he is studied wherever true study exists: eagerly studied
even in France; nay, some considerable knowledge of his nature and
spiritual importance seems already to prevail there. [Footnote: Witness
/Le Tasse, Drame par Duval,/ and the Criticisms on it. See also the
Essays in the /Globe,/ Nos. 55, 64 (1826).]

For ourselves, meanwhile, in giving all due weight to so curious an
exhibition of opinion, it is doubtless our part, at the same time, to
beware that we do not give it too much. This universal sentiment of
admiration is wonderful, is interesting enough; but it must not lead us
astray. We English stand as yet without the sphere of it; neither will
we plunge blindly in, but enter considerately, or, if we see good, keep
aloof from it altogether. Fame, we may understand, is no sure test of
merit, but only a probability of such; it is an accident, not a
property, of a man; like light, it can give little or nothing, but at
most may show what is given; often it is but a false glare, dazzling the
eyes of the vulgar, lending by casual extrinsic splendour the brightness
and manifold glance of the diamond to pebbles of no value. A man is in
all cases simply the man, of the same intrinsic worth and weakness,
whether his worth and weakness lie hidden in the depths of his own
consciousness, or be betrumpeted and beshouted from end to end of the
habitable globe. These are plain truths, which no one should lose sight
of; though, whether in love or in anger, for praise or for condemnation,
most of us are too apt to forget them. But least of all can it become
the critic to 'follow a multitude to do evil' even when that evil is
excess of admiration; on the contrary, it will behoove him to lift up
his voice, how feeble soever, how unheeded soever, against the common
delusion; from which, if he can save, or help to save any mortal, his
endeavours will have been repaid.

With these things in some measure before us, we must remind our readers
of another influence at work in this affair, and one acting, as we
think, in the contrary direction. That pitiful enough desire for
'originality' which lurks and acts in all minds, will rather, we
imagine, lead the critic of Foreign Literature to adopt the negative
than the affirmative with regard to Goethe. If a writer indeed feel that
he is writing for England alone, invisibly and inaudibly to the rest of
the Earth, the temptations may be pretty equally balanced; if he write
for some small conclave, which he mistakenly thinks the representative
of England, they may sway this way or that, as it chances. But writing
in such isolated spirit is no longer possible. Traffic, with its swift
ships, is uniting all nations into one; Europe at large is becoming more
and more one public; and in this public, the voices for Goethe, compared
with those against him, are in the proportion, as we reckon them, both
as to the number and value, of perhaps a hundred to one. We take in, not
Germany alone, but France and Italy; not the Schlegels and Schellings,
but the Manzonis and De Staels. The bias of originality, therefore, may
lie to the side of censure; and whoever among us shall step forward,
with such knowledge as our common critics have of Goethe, to enlighten
the European public, by contradiction in this matter, displays a
heroism, which, in estimating his other merits, ought nowise to be
forgotten.

Our own view of the case coincides, we confess, in some degree with that
of the majority. We reckon that Goethe's fame has, to a considerable
extent, been deserved; that his influence has been of high benefit to
his own country; nay more, that it promises to be of benefit to us, and
to all other nations. The essential grounds of this opinion, which to
explain minutely were a long, indeed boundless task, we may state
without many words. We find, then, in Goethe, an Artist, in the high and
ancient meaning of that term; in the meaning which it may have borne
long ago among the masters of Italian painting, and the fathers of
Poetry in England; we say that we trace in the creations of this man,
belonging in every sense to our own time, some touches of that old,
divine spirit, which had long passed away from among us, nay which, as
has often been laboriously demonstrated, was not to return to this world
any more.

Or perhaps we come nearer our meaning, if we say that in Goethe we
discover by far the most striking instance, in our time, of a writer who
is, in strict speech, what Philosophy can call a Man. He is neither
noble nor plebeian, neither liberal nor servile, nor infidel nor
devotee; but the best excellence of all these, joined in pure union; 'a
clear and universal Man.' Goethe's poetry is no separate faculty, no
mental handicraft; but the voice of the whole harmonious manhood: nay it
is the very harmony, the living and life-giving harmony of that rich
manhood which forms his poetry. All good men may be called poets in act,
or in word; all good poets are so in both. But Goethe besides appears to
us as a person of that deep endowment, and gifted vision, of that
experience also and sympathy in the ways of all men, which qualify him
to stand forth, not only as the literary ornament, but in many respects
too as the Teacher and exemplar of his age. For, to say nothing of his
natural gifts, he has cultivated himself and his art, he has studied how
to live and to write, with a fidelity, an unwearied earnestness, of
which there is no other living instance; of which, among British poets
especially, Wordsworth alone offers any resemblance. And this in our
view is the result. To our minds, in these soft, melodious imaginations
of his, there is embodied the Wisdom which is proper to this time; the
beautiful, the religious Wisdom, which may still, with something of its
old impressiveness, speak to the whole soul; still, in these hard,
unbelieving utilitarian days, reveal to us glimpses of the Unseen but
not unreal World, that so the Actual and the Ideal may again meet
together, and clear Knowledge be again wedded to Religion, in the life
and business of men.

Such is our conviction or persuasion with regard to the poetry of
Goethe. Could we demonstrate this opinion to be true, could we even
exhibit it with that degree of clearness and consistency which it has
attained in our own thoughts, Goethe were, on our part, sufficiently
recommended to the best attention of all thinking men. But, unhappily,
it is not a subject susceptible of demonstration: the merits and
characteristics of a Poet are not to be set forth by logic; but to be
gathered by personal, and as in this case it must be, by deep and
careful inspection of his works. Nay Goethe's world is everyway so
different from ours; it costs us such effort, we have so much to
remember, and so much to forget, before we can transfer ourselves in any
measure into his peculiar point of vision, that a right study of him,
for an Englishman, even of ingenuous, open, inquisitive mind, becomes
unusually difficult; for a fixed, decided, contemptuous Englishman, next
to impossible. To a reader of the first class, helps may be given,
explanations will remove many a difficulty; beauties that lay hidden may
be made apparent; and directions, adapted to his actual position, will
at length guide him into the proper tract for such an inquiry. All this,
however, must be a work of progression and detail. To do our part in it,
from time to time, must rank among the best duties of an English Foreign
Review. Meanwhile, our present endeavour limits itself within far
narrower bounds. We cannot aim to make Goethe known, but only to prove
that he is worthy of being known; at most, to point out, as it were afar
off, the path by which some knowledge of him may be obtained. A slight
glance at his general literary character and procedure, and one or two
of his chief productions which throw light on these, must for the
present suffice. A French diplomatic personage, contemplating Goethe's
physiognomy, is said to have observed: /Voila un homme qui a eu
beaucoup de chagrins./ A truer version of the matter, Goethe himself
seems to think, would have been: Here is a man who has struggled
toughly; who has /es sich recht sauer werden lassen./ Goethe's
life, whether as a writer and thinker, or as a living active man, has
indeed been a life of effort, of earnest toilsome endeavour after all
excellence. Accordingly, his intellectual progress, his spiritual and
moral history, as it may be gathered from his successive Works,
furnishes, with us, no small portion of the pleasure and profit we
derive from perusing them. Participating deeply in all the influences of
his age, he has from the first, at every new epoch, stood forth to
elucidate the new circumstances of the time; to offer the instruction,
the solace, which that time required. His literary life divides itself
into two portions widely different in character: the products of the
first, once so new and original, have long either directly or through
the thousand thousand imitations of them, been familiar to us; with the
products of the second, equally original, and in our day far more
precious, we are yet little acquainted. These two classes of works stand
curiously related with each other; at first view, in strong
contradiction, yet, in truth, connected together by the strictest
sequence. For Goethe has not only suffered and mourned in bitter agony
under the spiritual perplexities of his time; but he has also mastered
these, he is above them, and has shown others how to rise above them. At
one time, we found him in darkness, and now he is in light; he was once
an Unbeliever, and now he is a Believer; and he believes, moreover, not
by denying his unbelief, but by following it out; not by stopping short,
still less turning back, in his inquiries, but by resolutely prosecuting
them. This, it appears to us, is a case of singular interest, and rarely
exemplified, if at all elsewhere, in these our days. How has this man,
to whom the world once offered nothing but blackness, denial and
despair, attained to that better vision which now shows it to him, not
tolerable only, but full of solemnity and loveliness? How has the belief
of a Saint been united in this high and true mind with the clearness of
a Sceptic; the devout spirit of a Fenelon made to blend in soft harmony
with the gaiety, the sarcasm, the shrewdness of a Voltaire?

Goethe's two earliest works are /Götz von Berlichingen/ and the
/Sorrows of Werter/. The boundless influence and popularity they
gained, both at home and abroad, is well known. It was they that
established almost at once his literary fame in his own country; and
even determined his subsequent private history, for they brought him
into contact with the Duke of Weimar; in connection with whom, the Poet,
engaged in manifold duties, political as well as literary, has lived for
fifty-four years. Their effects over Europe at large were not less
striking than in Germany.

'It would be difficult,' observes a writer on this subject, 'to name two
books which have exercised a deeper influence on the subsequent
literature of Europe, than these two performances of a young author; his
first-fruits, the produce of his twenty-fourth year. /Werter/
appeared to seize the hearts of men in all quarters of the world, and to
utter for them the word which they had long been waiting to hear. As
usually happens, too, this same word, once uttered, was soon abundantly
repeated; spoken in all dialects, and chaunted through all notes of the
gamut, till the sound of it had grown a weariness rather than a
pleasure. Sceptical sentimentality, view-hunting, love, friendship,
suicide, and desperation, became the staple of literary ware; and though
the epidemic, after a long course of years, subsided in Germany, it
reappeared with various modifications in other countries, and everywhere
abundant traces of its good and bad effects are still to be discerned.
The fortune of /Berlichingen with the Iron Hand,/ though less
sudden, was by no means less exalted. In his own county, /Götz,/
though he now stands solitary and childless, became the parent of an
innumerable progeny of chivalry plays, feudal delineations, and poetico-
antiquarian performances; which, though long ago deceased, made noise
enough in their day and generation: and with ourselves, his influence
has been perhaps still more remarkable. Sir Walter Scott's first
literary enterprise was a translation of /Götz von Berlichingen/;
and, if genius could be communicated like instruction, we might call
this work of Goethe's the prime cause of /Marmion/ and the /Lady
of the Lake/, with all that has followed from the same creative hand.
Truly, a grain of seed that has lighted on the right soil! For if not
firmer and fairer, it has grown to be taller and broader than any other
tree; and all the nations of the earth are still yearly gathering of its
fruit.

'But overlooking these spiritual genealogies, which bring little
certainty and little profit, it may be sufficient to observe of
/Berlichingen/ and /Werter/, that they stand prominent among
the causes, or, at the very least, among the signals of a great change
in modern literature. The former directed men's attention with a new
force to the picturesque effects of the Past; and the latter, for the
first time, attempted the more accurate delineation of a class of
feelings deeply important to modern minds, but for which our elder
poetry offered no exponent, and perhaps could offer none, because they
are feelings that arise from Passion incapable of being converted into
Action, and belong chiefly to an age as indolent, cultivated and
unbelieving as our own. This, notwithstanding the dash of falsehood
which may exist in /Werter/ itself, and the boundless delirium of
extravagance which it called forth in others, is a high praise which
cannot justly be denied it.'

To the same dark wayward mood, which, in /Werter/, pours itself
forth in bitter wailings over human life; and, in /Berlichingen/,
appears as a fond and sad looking back into the Past, belong various
other productions of Goethe's; for example, the /Mitschuldigen/,
and the first idea of Faust, which, however, was not realized in actual
composition till a calmer period of his history. Of this early harsh and
crude, yet fervid and genial period, /Werter/ may stand here as the
representative; and, viewed in its external and internal relation, will
help to illustrate both the writer and the public he was writing for.

At the present day, it would be difficult for us, satisfied, nay sated
to nausea, as we have been with the doctrines of Sentimentality, to
estimate the boundless interest which /Werter/ must have excited
when first given to the world. It was then new in all senses; it was
wonderful, yet wished for, both in its own country and in every other.
The Literature of Germany had as yet but partially awakened from its
long torpor: deep learning, deep reflection, have at no time been
wanting there; but the creative spirit had for above a century been
almost extinct. Of late, however, the Ramlers, Rabeners, Gellerts, had
attained to no inconsiderable polish of style; Klopstock's
/Messias/ had called forth the admiration, and perhaps still more
the pride, of the country, as a piece of art; a high enthusiasm was
abroad; Lessing had roused the minds of men to a deeper and truer
interest in Literature, had even decidedly begun to introduce a
heartier, warmer and more expressive style. The Germans were on the
alert; in expectation, or at least in full readiness for some far bolder
impulse; waiting for the Poet that might speak to them from the heart to
the heart. It was in Goethe that such a Poet was to be given them.

Nay, the Literature of other countries, placid, self-satisfied as they
might seem, was in an equally expectant condition. Everywhere, as in
Germany, there was polish and languor, external glitter and internal
vacuity; it was not fire, but a picture of fire, at which no soul could
be warmed. Literature had sunk from its former vocation: it no longer
held the mirror up to Nature; no longer reflected, in many-coloured
expressive symbols, the actual passions, the hopes, sorrows, joys of
living men; but dwelt in a remote conventional world in /Castles of
Otranto/, in /Epigoniads/ and /Leonidases/, among clear,
metallic heroes, and white, high, stainless beauties, in whom the
drapery and elocution were nowise the least important qualities. Men
thought it right that the heart should swell into magnanimity with
Caractacus and Cato, and melt into sorrow with many an Eliza and
Adelaide; but the heart was in no haste either to swell or to melt. Some
pulses of heroical sentiment, a few /un/natural tears might, with
conscientious readers, be actually squeezed forth on such occasions: but
they came only from the surface of the mind; nay, had the conscientious
man considered the matter, he would have found that they ought not to
have come at all. Our only English poet of the period was Goldsmith; a
pure, clear, genuine spirit, had he been of depth or strength
sufficient; his /Vicar of Wakefield/ remains the best of all modern
Idyls; but it is and was nothing more. And consider our leading writers;
consider the poetry of Gray, and the prose of Johnson. The first a
laborious mosaic, through the hard stiff lineaments of which little life
or true grace could be expected to look: real feeling, and all freedom
of expressing it, are sacrificed to pomp, to cold splendour; for vigour
we have a certain mouthing vehemence, too elegant indeed to be tumid,
yet essentially foreign to the heart, and seen to extend no deeper than
the mere voice and gestures. Were it not for his /Letters/, which
are full of warm exuberant power, we might almost doubt whether Gray was
a man of genius; nay, was a living man at all, and not rather some
thousand-times more cunningly devised poetical turning-loom, than that
of Swift's Philosophers in Laputa. Johnson's prose is true, indeed, and
sound, and full of practical sense: few men have seen more clearly into
the motives, the interests, the whole walk and conversation of the
living busy world as it lay before him; but farther than this busy, and
to most of us, rather prosaic world, he seldom looked: his instruction
is for men of business, and in regard to matters of business alone.
Prudence is the highest Virtue he can inculcate; and for that finer
portion of our nature, that portion of it which belongs essentially to
Literature strictly so called, where our highest feelings, our best joys
and keenest sorrows, our Doubt, our Love, our Religion reside, he has no
word to utter; no remedy, no counsel to give us in our straits; or at
most, if, like poor Boswell, the patient is importunate, will answer:
"My dear Sir, endeavour to clear your mind of Cant."

The turn which Philosophical speculation had taken in the preceding age
corresponded with this tendency, and enhanced its narcotic influences;
or was, indeed, properly speaking, the loot they had sprung from. Locke,
himself a clear, humble-minded, patient, reverent, nay religious man,
had paved the way for banishing religion from the world. Mind, by being
modelled in men's imaginations into a Shape, a Visibility; and reasoned
of as if it had been some composite, divisible and reunitable substance,
some finer chemical salt, or curious piece of logical joinery,--began to
lose its immaterial, mysterious, divine though invisible character: it
was tacitly figured as something that might, were our organs fine
enough, be /seen/. Yet who had ever seen it? Who could ever see it?
Thus by degrees it passed into a Doubt, a Relation, some faint
Possibility; and at last into a highly-probable Nonentity. Following
Locke's footsteps, the French had discovered that 'as the stomach
secretes Chyle, so does the brain secrete Thought.' And what then was
Religion, what was Poetry, what was all high and heroic feeling? Chiefly
a delusion; often a false and pernicious one. Poetry, indeed, was still
to be preserved; because Poetry was a useful thing: men needed
amusement, and loved to amuse themselves with Poetry: the playhouse was
a pretty lounge of an evening; then there were so many precepts,
satirical, didactic, so much more impressive for the rhyme; to say
nothing of your occasional verses, birthday odes, epithalamiums,
epicediums, by which 'the dream of existence may be so highly sweetened
and embellished.' Nay, does not Poetry, acting on the imaginations of
men, excite them to daring purposes; sometimes, as in the case of
Tyrtaeus, to fight better; in which wise may it not rank as a useful
stimulant to man, along with Opium and Scotch Whisky, the manufacture of
which is allowed by law? In Heaven's name, then, let Poetry be
preserved.

With Religion, however, it fared somewhat worse. In the eyes of Voltaire
and his disciples, Religion was a superfluity, indeed a nuisance. Here,
it is true, his followers have since found that he went too far; that
Religion, being a great sanction to civil morality, is of use for
keeping society in order, at least the lower classes, who have not the
feeling of Honour in due force; and therefore, as a considerable help to
the Constable and Hangman, /ought/ decidedly to be kept up. But
such toleration is the fruit only of later days. In those times, there
was no question but how to get rid of it, root and branch, the sooner
the better. A gleam of zeal, nay we will call it, however basely
alloyed, a glow of real enthusiasm and love of truth, may have animated
the minds of these men, as they looked abroad on the pestilent jungle of
Superstition, and hoped to clear the earth of it forever. This little
glow, so alloyed, so contaminated with pride and other poor or bad
admixtures, was the last which thinking men were to experience in Europe
for a time. So it is always in regard to Religious Belief, how degraded
and defaced soever: the delight of the Destroyer and Denier is no pure
delight, and must soon pass away. With bold, with skilful hand, Voltaire
set his torch to the jungle: it blazed aloft to heaven; and the flame
exhilarated and comforted the incendiaries; but, unhappily, such comfort
could not continue. Ere long this flame, with its cheerful light and
heat, was gone: the jungle, it is true, had been consumed; but, with its
entanglements, its shelter and its spots of verdure also; and the black,
chill, ashy swamp, left in its stead, seemed for a time a greater evil
than the other.

In such a state of painful obstruction, extending itself everywhere over
Europe, and already master of Germany, lay the general mind, when Goethe
first appeared in Literature. Whatever belonged to the finer nature of
man had withered under the Harmattan breath of Doubt, or passed away in
the conflagration of open Infidelity; and now, where the Tree of Life
once bloomed and brought fruit of goodliest savour there was only
barrenness and desolation. To such as could find sufficient interest in
the day-labour and day-wages of earthly existence; in the resources of
the five bodily Senses, and of Vanity, the only mental sense which yet
flourished, which flourished indeed with gigantic vigour, matters were
still not so bad. Such men helped themselves forward, as they will
generally do; and found the world, if not an altogether proper sphere
(for every man, disguise it as he may, has a /soul/ in him), at
least a tolerable enough place; where, by one item or another, some
comfort, or show of comfort, might from time to time be got up, and
these few years, especially since they were so few, be spent without
much murdering. But to men afflicted with the 'malady of Thought,' some
devoutness of temper was an inevitable heritage; to such the noisy forum
of the world could appear but an empty, altogether insufficient concern;
and the whole scene of life had become hopeless enough. Unhappily, such
feelings are yet by no means so infrequent with ourselves, that we need
stop here to depict them. That state of Unbelief from which the Germans
do seem to be in some measure delivered, still presses with incubus
force on the greater part of Europe; and nation after nation, each in
its own way, feels that the first of all moral problems is how to cast
it off, or how to rise above it. Governments naturally attempt the first
expedient; Philosophers, in general, the second.

The Poet, says Schiller, is a citizen not only of his country, but of
his time. Whatever occupies and interests men in general, will interest
him still more. That nameless Unrest, the blind struggle of a soul in
bondage, that high, sad, longing Discontent, which was agitating every
bosom, had driven Goethe almost to despair. All felt it; he alone could
give it voice. And here lies the secret of his popularity; in his deep,
susceptive heart, he felt a thousand times more keenly what every one
was feeling; with the creative gift which belonged to him as a poet, he
bodied it forth into visible shape, gave it a local habitation and a
name; and so made himself the spokesman of his generation. /Werter/
is but the cry of that dim, rooted pain, under which all thoughtful men
of a certain age were languishing: it paints the misery, it passionately
utters the complaint; and heart and voice, all over Europe, loudly and
at once respond to it. True, it prescribes no remedy; for that was a far
different, far harder enterprise, to which other years and a higher
culture were required; but even this utterance of the pain, even this
little, for the present, is ardently grasped at, and with eager sympathy
appropriated in every bosom. If Byron's life-weariness, his moody
melancholy, and mad stormful indignation, borne on the tones of a wild
and quite artless melody, could pierce so deep into many a British
heart, now that the whole matter is no longer new,--is indeed old and
trite,--we may judge with what vehement acceptance this /Werter/
must have been welcomed, coming as it did like a voice from unknown
regions; the first thrilling peal of that impassioned dirge, which, in
country after country, men's ears have listened to, till they were deaf
to all else. For /Werter/ infusing itself into the core and whole
spirit of Literature, gave birth to a race of Sentimentalists, who have
raged and wailed in every part of the world, till better light dawned on
them, or at worst, exhausted Nature laid herself to sleep, and it was
discovered that lamenting was an unproductive labour. These funereal
choristers, in Germany a loud, haggard, tumultuous, as well as tearful
class, were named the /Kraftmänner/ or Power-men; but have all long
since, like sick children, cried themselves to rest. Byron was our
English Sentimentalist and Power-man; the strongest of his kind in
Europe; the wildest, the gloomiest, and it may be hoped the last. For
what good is it to 'whine, put finger i' the eye, and sob,' in such a
case? Still more, to snarl and snap in malignant wise, 'like dog
distract, or monkey sick?' Why should we quarrel with our existence,
here as it lies before us, our field and inheritance, to make or mar,
for better or for worse; in which, too, so many noblest men have, even
from the beginning, warring with the very evils we war with, both made
and been what will be venerated to all time?

A wide and everyway most important interval divides /Werter/, with
its sceptical philosophy and 'hypochondriacal crotchets,' from Goethe's
next Novel, /Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship/, published some
twenty years afterwards. This work belongs, in all senses, to the second
and sounder period of Goethe's life, and may indeed serve as the
fullest, if perhaps not the purest, impress of it; being written with
due forethought, at various times, during a period of no less than ten
years. Considered as a piece of Art, there were much to be said on
/Meister/; all which, however, lies beyond our present purpose. We
are here looking at the work chiefly as a document for the writer's
history; and in this point of view, it certainly seems, as contrasted
with its more popular precursor, to deserve our best attention: for the
problem which had been stated in /Werter/, with despair of its
solution, is here solved. The lofty enthusiasm, which, wandering wildly
over the universe, found no resting-place, has here reached its
appointed home; and lives in harmony with what long appeared to threaten
it with annihilation. Anarchy has now become Peace; the once gloomy and
perturbed spirit is now serene, cheerfully vigorous, and rich in good
fruits. Neither, which is most important of all, has this Peace been
attained by a surrender to Necessity, or any compact with Delusion; a
seeming blessing, such as years and dispiritment will of themselves
bring to most men, and which is indeed no blessing, since even continued
battle is better than destruction or captivity; and peace of this sort
is like that of Galgacus's Romans, who 'called it peace when they had
made a desert.' Here the ardent high-aspiring youth has grown into the
calmest man, yet with increase and not loss of ardour, and with
aspirations higher as well as clearer. For he has conquered his
unbelief; the Ideal has been built on the Actual; no longer floats
vaguely in darkness and regions of dreams, but rests in light, on the
firm ground of human interest and business, as in its true scene, on its
true basis.

It is wonderful to see with, what softness the scepticism of Jarno, the
commercial spirit of Werner, the reposing polished manhood of Lothario
and the Uncle, the unearthly enthusiasm of the Harper, the gay animal
vivacity of Philina, the mystic, ethereal, almost spiritual nature of
Mignon, are blended together in this work; how justice is done to each,
how each lives freely in his proper element, in his proper form; and
how, as Wilhelm himself, the mild-hearted, all-hoping, all-believing
Wilhelm, struggles forward towards his world of Art through these
curiously complected influences, all this unites itself into a
multifarious, yet so harmonious Whole; as into a clear poetic mirror,
where man's life and business in this age, his passions and purposes,
the highest equally with the lowest, are imaged back to us in beautiful
significance. Poetry and Prose are no longer at variance; for the poet's
eyes are opened; he sees the changes of many-colored existence, and sees
the loveliness and deep purport which lies hidden under the very meanest
of them; hidden to the vulgar sight, but clear to the poet's; because
the 'open secret' is no longer a secret to him, and he knows that the
Universe is /full/ of goodness; that whatever has being has beauty.

Apart from its literary merits or demerits, such is the temper of mind
we trace in Goethe's /Meister/, and, more or less expressly
exhibited, in all his later works. We reckon it a rare phenomenon, this
temper; and worthy, in our times, if it do exist, of best study from all
inquiring men. How has such a temper been attained in this so lofty and
impetuous mind, once too, dark, desolate and full of doubt, more than
any other? How may we, each of us in his several sphere, attain it, or
strengthen it, for ourselves? These are questions, this last is a
question, in which no one is unconcerned.

To answer these questions, to begin the answer of them, would lead us
very far beyond our present limits. It is not, as we believe, without
long, sedulous study, without learning much and unlearning much, that,
for any man, the answer of such questions is even to be hoped.
Meanwhile, as regards Goethe, there is one feature of the business,
which, to us, throws considerable light on his moral persuasions, and
will not, in investigating the secret of them, be overlooked. We allude
to the spirit in which he cultivates his Art; the noble, disinterested,
almost religious love with which he looks on Art in general, and strives
towards it as towards the sure, highest, nay only good.

For a man of Goethe's talent to write many such pieces of rhetoric,
setting forth the dignity of poets, and their innate independence on
external circumstances, could be no very hard task; accordingly, we find
such sentiments again and again expressed, sometimes with still more
gracefulness, still clearer emphasis, in his various writings. But to
adopt these sentiments into his sober practical persuasion; in any
measure to feel and believe that such was still, and must always be, the
high vocation of the poet; on this ground of universal humanity, of
ancient and now almost forgotten nobleness, to take his stand, even in
these trivial, jeering, withered, unbelieving days; and through all
their complex, dispiriting, mean, yet tumultuous influences, to 'make
his light shine before them,' that it might beautify even our 'rag-
gathering age' with some beams of that mild, divine splendour, which had
long left us, the very possibility of which was denied; heartily and in
earnest to meditate all this, was no common proceeding; to bring it into
practice, especially in such a life as his has been, was among the
highest and hardest enterprises which any man whatever could engage in.
We reckon this a greater novelty, than all the novelties which as a mere
writer he ever put forth, whether for praise or censure. We have taken
it upon us to say that if such is, in any sense, the state of the case
with regard to Goethe, he deserves not mere approval as a pleasing poet
and sweet singer; but deep, grateful study, observance, imitation, as a
Moralist and Philosopher. If there be any /probability/ that such
is the state of the case, we cannot but reckon it a matter well worthy
of being inquired into. And it is for this only that we are here
pleading and arguing. Meister is the mature product of the first genius
of our times; and must, one would think, be different, in various
respects, from the immature products of geniuses who are far from the
first, and whose works spring from the brain in as many weeks as
Goethe's cost him years.

It may deserve to be mentioned here that Meister, at its first
appearance in Germany, was received very much as it has been in England.
Goethe's known character, indeed, precluded indifference there; but
otherwise it was much the same. The whole guild of criticism was thrown
into perplexity, into sorrow; everywhere was dissatisfaction open or
concealed. Official duty impelling them to speak, some said one thing,
some another; all felt in secret that they knew not what to say. Till
the appearance of Schlegel's /Character/, no word, that we have
seen, of the smallest chance to be decisive, or indeed to last beyond
the day, had been uttered regarding it. Some regretted that the fire of
/Werter/ was so wonderfully abated; whisperings there might be
about 'lowness,' 'heaviness;' some spake forth boldly in behalf of
suffering 'virtue.' Novalis was not among the speakers, but he censured
the work in secret, and this for a reason which to us will seem the
strangest; for its being, as we should say, a Benthamite work! Many are
the bitter aphorisms we find, among his Fragments, directed against
/Meister/ for its prosaic, mechanical, economical, coldhearted,
altogether Utilitarian character. We English again call Goethe a mystic;
so difficult is it to please all parties! But the good, deep, noble
Novalis made the fairest amends; for notwithstanding all this, Tieck
tells us, if we remember rightly, he continually returned to
/Meister/, and could not but peruse and reperuse it.

Goethe's /Wanderjahre/ was published in his seventy-second year;
/Werter/ in his twenty-fifth; thus in passing between these two
works, and over /Meister's Lehrjahre/ which stands nearly midway,
we have glanced over a space of almost fifty years, including within
them, of course, whatever was most important in his public or private
history. By means of these quotations, so diverse in their tone, we
meant to make it visible that a great change had taken place in the
moral disposition of the man; a change from inward imprisonment, doubt
and discontent, into freedom, belief and clear activity; such a change
as, in our opinion, must take place, more or less consciously, in every
character that, especially in these times, attains to spiritual manhood,
and in characters possessing any thoughtfulness and sensibility, will
seldom take place without a too painful consciousness, without bitter
conflicts, in which the character itself is too often maimed and
impoverished, and which end too often not in victory, but in defeat, or
fatal compromise with the enemy. Too often, we may well say; for though
many gird on the harness, few bear it warrior-like; still fewer put it
off with triumph. Among our own poets, Byron was almost the only man we
saw faithfully and manfully struggling, to the end, in this cause; and
he died while the victory was still doubtful, or at best, only beginning
to be gained. We have already stated our opinion, that Goethe's success
in this matter has been more complete than that of any other man in his
age; nay, that, in the strictest sense, he may almost be called the only
one that has so succeeded. On this ground, were it on no other, we have
ventured to say that his spiritual history and procedure must deserve
attention; that his opinions, his creations, his mode of thought, his
whole picture of the world as it dwells within him, must to his
contemporaries be an inquiry of no common interest; of an interest
altogether peculiar, and not in this degree exampled in existing
literature. These things can be but imperfectly stated here, and must be
left, not in a state of demonstration, but at the utmost, of loose
fluctuating probability; nevertheless, if inquired into, they will be
found to have a precise enough meaning, and, as we believe, a highly
important one.

For the rest, what sort of mind it is that has passed through this
change, that has gained this victory; how rich and high a mind; how
learned by study in all that is wisest, by experience in all that is
most complex, the brightest as well as the blackest, in man's existence;
gifted with what insight, with what grace and power of utterance, we
shall not for the present attempt discussing. All these the reader will
learn, who studies his writings with such attention as they merit; and
by no other means. Of Goethe's dramatic, lyrical, didactic poems, in
their thousandfold expressiveness, for they are full of expressiveness,
we can here say nothing. But in every department of Literature, of Art
ancient and modern, in many provinces of Science, we shall often meet
him; and hope to have other occasions of estimating what, in these
respects, we and all men owe him.

Two circumstances, meanwhile, we have remarked, which to us throw light
on the nature of his original faculty for Poetry, and go far to convince
us of the Mastery he has attained in that art: these we may here state
briefly, for the judgment of such as already know his writings, or the
help of such as are beginning to know them. The first is his singularly
emblematic intellect; his perpetual never-failing tendency to transform
into /shape/, into /life/, the opinion, the feeling that may dwell
in him; which, in its widest sense, we reckon to be essentially the grand
problem of the Poet. We do not mean mere metaphor and rhetorical trope:
these are but the exterior concern, often but the scaffolding of the
edifice, which is to be built up (within our thoughts) by means of them.
In allusions, in similitudes, though no one known to us is happier, many
are more copious than Goethe. But we find this faculty of his in the
very essence of his intellect; and trace it alike in the quiet cunning
epigram, the allegory, the quaint device, reminding us of some Quarles
or Bunyan; and in the /Fausts/, the /Tassos/, the
/Mignons/, which in their pure and genuine personality, may almost
remind us of the /Ariels/ and /Hamlets/ of Shakespeare.
Everything has form, everything has visual existence; the poet's
imagination /bodies forth/ the forms of things unseen, his pen
turns them to /shape/. This, as a natural endowment, exists in
Goethe, we conceive, to a very high degree.

The other characteristic of his mind, which proves to us his acquired
mastery in art, as this shows us the extent of his original capacity for
it, is his wonderful variety, nay universality; his entire freedom from
the Mannerism. We read Goethe for years, before we come to see wherein
the distinguishing peculiarity of his understanding, of his disposition,
even of his way of writing, consists. It seems quite a simple style that
of his; remarkable chiefly for its calmness, its perspicuity, in short
its commonness; and yet it is the most uncommon of all styles: we feel
as if every one might imitate it, and yet it is inimitable. As hard is
it to discover in his writings,--though there also, as in every man's
writings, the character of the writer must lie recorded,--what sort of
spiritual construction he has, what are his temper, his affections, his
individual specialties. For all lives freely within him: Philina and
Clanchen, Mephistopheles and Mignon, are alike indifferent, or alike
dear to him; he is of no sect or caste: he seems not this man or that
man, but a man. We reckon this to be the characteristic of a Master in
Art of any sort; and true especially of all great Poets. How true is it
of Shakespeare and Homer! Who knows, or can figure what the Man
Shakespeare was, by the first, by the twentieth perusal of his works? He
is a Voice coming to us from the Land of Melody: his old brick dwelling-
place, in the mere earthly burgh of Stratford-on-Avon, offers us the
most inexplicable enigma. And what is Homer in the /Ilias/? He is
THE WITNESS; he has seen, and he reveals it; we hear and believe, but do
not behold him. Now compare, with these two Poets, any other two; not of
equal genius, for there are none such, but of equal sincerity, who wrote
as earnestly and from the heart, like them. Take, for instance, Jean
Paul and Lord Byron. The good Eichter begins to show himself, in his
broad, massive, kindly, quaint significance, before we have read many
pages of even his slightest work; and to the last he paints himself much
better than his subject. Byron may also be said to have painted nothing
else than himself, be his subject what it might. Yet as a test for the
culture of a Poet, in his poetical capacity, for his pretensions to
mastery and completeness in his art, we cannot but reckon this among the
surest. Tried by this, there is no writer that approaches within many
degrees of Goethe.



JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was born in Frankfort on August 28, 1749. His
parents were citizens of that imperial town, and Wolfgang was their only
son. His father was born on July 31, 1710. He married, on August 20,
1748, at the age of thirty-eight, Catherine Elizabeth Textor. In
December, 1750, was born a daughter, Cornelia, who remained until her
death, at the age of twenty-seven, her brother's most intimate friend.
She was married in 1773 to John George Schlosser. Goethe's education was
irregular. French culture gave at this time the prevailing tone to
Europe. Goethe could not have escaped its influence, and he was destined
to fall under it in a special manner. In the Seven Years' War, which was
now raging, France took the side of the empire against Frederick the
Great. Frankfort was full of French soldiers, and a certain Comte
Thorane, who was quartered in Goethe's house, had an important influence
on the boy.

Goethe, if we may believe his autobiography, experienced his first love
about the age of fifteen in the person of Gretchen, whom some have
supposed to be the daughter of an innkeeper at Offenbach. He worshipped
her as Dante worshipped Beatrice.

In the autumn of 1765 Goethe traveled to Leipsic. On the 19th of October
he was admitted as a student. He was sent to Leipsic to study law, in
order that he might return to Frankfort fitted for the regular course of
municipal distinction. He intended to devote himself not to law, but to
belles lettres. He attended Gellert's lectures on literature, and even
joined his private class. His real university education was derived from
intercourse with his friends. First among these was J. G. Schlosser, who
afterwards married his sister. He had a great influence upon him,
chiefly in introducing him to a wider circle of German, French, English
and Italian poetry.

But the person who had the strongest effect on Goethe's mental
development was Adam Frederick Oeser, at this time director of the
academy of arts in Leipsic.

Goethe, from his earliest years, was never without a passion, and at
Leipsic his passion was Kitty Schönkopf, the Aennchen of the
autobiography, the daughter of the host at whose house he dined. She
often teased him with her inconstant ways, and to this experience is due
his first drama, "Die Laune des Verliebten," "Lovers' Quarrels," as it
may be styled. A deeper chord is struck in "Die Mitschuldigen" (The
Fellow Sinners), which forms a dismal and forbidding picture both of the
time and of the experiences of the youth who wrote it. He had an
opportunity of establishing his principles of taste during a short visit
at Dresden, in which he devoted himself to the pictures and the
antiques. The end of Goethe's stay at Leipsic was saddened by illness.
One morning at the beginning of the summer he was awakened by a violent
hemorrhage. For several days he hung between life and death, and after
that his recovery was slow. He left Leipsic far from well on August 28,
1768.

Goethe made an enforced stay of a year and a half. It was perhaps the
least happy part of his life. His cure proceeded slowly, and he had
several relapses. His family relations were not pleasant. His father
showed but little sympathy with his aspirations for universal culture,
and could imagine no career for him but that of a successful jurist. His
sister had grown somewhat harsh and cold during his absence. Goethe's
mother was always the same to him--a bright, genial, sympathetic friend.
Goethe, during his illness, received great attention from Fräulein von
Klettenberg, a friend of his mother's, a pietist of the Moravian school.
She initiated him into the mystical writings of those abstracted saints,
and she engaged him in the study of alchemy, which served at once to
prepare him for the conception of Faust and for the scientific
researches of his later days.

He arrived at Strasburg April 2,1770. Goethe stayed in Strasburg till
August 28, 1771, his twenty-second birthday, and these sixteen months
are perhaps the most important of his life. During them he came into
active contact with most of those impulses of which his after life was a
development. If we would understand his mental growth, we must ask who
were his friends. He took his meals at the house of the Fräulein Lauth
in the Kramergasse. The table was mainly filled with medical students.
At the head of it sat Salzmann, a grave man of fifty years of age. His
experience and his refined taste were very attractive to Goethe, who
made him his intimate friend. The table of the Fräulein Lauth received
some new guests. Among these was Jung-Stilling, the self-educated
charcoal-burner, who in his memoir has left a graphic account of
Goethe's striking appearance, in his broad brow, his flashing eye, his
mastery of the company, and his generosity. Another was Lerse, a frank,
open character, who became Goethe's favorite, and whose name is
immortalized in Götz von Berlichingen.

Goethe's stay at Strasburg is generally connected still more closely
with another circumstance--his passion for Frederike Brion of Sesenheim.
The village lies about twenty miles from Strasburg, and her father was
pastor there. Goethe was introduced by his friend Weyland, as a poor
theological student. The father was a simple, worthy man, the eldest of
the three daughters was married, the two younger remained--Maria Salome,
and Frederike, to whom the poet principally devoted himself. She was
tall and slight, with fair hair and blue eyes, and just sixteen years of
age. Goethe gave himself up to the passion of the moment. During the
winter of 1770, Goethe often rode over to Sesenheim. Neither storm, nor
cold, nor darkness kept him back. As his time for leaving Strasburg came
nearer he felt that his love was merely a dream and could have no
serious termination. Frederike felt the same on her side. On August 6th
Goethe took his degree as a doctor of law. Shortly afterwards he bade
adieu to Sesenheim. Frederike lived till 1813 and died single.

Goethe's return to Frankfort is marked by a number of songs, of which
the "Wanderer's Sturmlied" is the most remarkable. He had outgrown many
of the friends of his youth. Those with whom he felt most sympathy were
the two Schlossers and his sister Cornelia. He found in her one who
sympathized with all his aspirations. The work into which he threw all
his genius was the dramatization of the history of the imperial knight
of the Middle Ages, Gottfried or Götz von Berlichingen. The immediate
cause of this enterprise was his enthusiasm for Shakespeare. After
reading him he felt, he said, like a blind man who suddenly receives his
sight. The study of a dry and dull biography of Götz, published in 1731,
supplied the subject for his awakened powers. From this miserable sketch
he conceived within his mind a complete picture of Germany in the
sixteenth century. The chief characters of his play are creatures of his
imagination, representing the principal types which made up the history
of the time. Every personage is made to live; they speak in short, sharp
sentences like the powerful lines of a great master's drawing. The first
sketch of Götz was finished in six weeks, in the autumn of 1771. It ran
like wild-fire through the whole of Germany.

Goethe left Frankfort in the spring of 1772 for Wetzlar, a quiet country
town on the Lahn, one of the seats of government of the Holy Roman
Empire. The emperors lived at Vienna; they were crowned at Frankfort;
they held their parliaments at Ratisbon, and at Wetzlar their courts of
justice. It was the custom for young lawyers to attend the sittings of
these courts for a certain time before they could be admitted to
practice on their own account. The company of these students, of the
embassies from the component parts of the empire, and of various
imperial officials, made the society a pleasant and lively one. Goethe
soon found friends. His favorite house was occupied by one of the
officials of the order, by name Buff, an honest man with a large family
of children. The second daughter, Lotte, blue-eyed, fair and just twenty
years of age, was first met by Goethe, shortly after his arrival, at a
ball at Wolpertshausen. She strongly attracted him; he became a constant
visitor at the house. He found that Lotte was a second mother to her
brothers and sisters. Lotte, was really, though not formally, engaged to
Kestner, a man of two-and-thirty, secretary to the Hanoverian legation.
The discovery of this relation made no difference to Goethe; he remained
the devoted friend to both. But the position was too critical to last.
On September 10 they met in the German house for the last time. Goethe
and Schlosser went together to Wetzlar in November. Here he heard of the
death of Jerusalem, a young man attached to the Brunswick legation. He
had been with Goethe at the University of Leipsic. Of a moody
temperament, disheartened by failure in his profession, and soured by a
hopeless passion for the wife of another, he had borrowed a pair of
pistols under pretense of a journey, and had shot himself on the night
of October 29.

Goethe immediately afterwards began his Werther. Goethe tells us that it
was written in four weeks. In October it spread over the whole of
Germany. It was enthusiastically beloved or sternly condemned. It was
printed, imitated, translated into every language of Europe. Götz and
Werther formed the solid foundation of Goethe's fame. It is difficult to
imagine that the same man can have produced both works, so different are
they in matter and style. Götz was the first manly appeal to the
chivalry of German spirit, which, caught up by other voices, sounded
throughout the Fatherland like the call of a warder's trumpet, till it
produced a national courage, founded on the recollection of an
illustrious past, which overthrew the might of the conqueror at the
moment when he seemed about to dominate the world. Werther, as soft and
melodious as Plato, was the first revelation to the world of that
marvelous style which, in the hands of a master, compels a language
which is as rich as Greek to be also as musical.

The spring of 1773, which witnessed the publication of Götz, saw him
actively employed as an advocate. In November, Goethe's sister Cornelia
was married to Schlosser and left Strasburg. Goethe felt the loss
deeply. She lived but a short time. Her married life was tortured with
suffering, and she died in 1777.

The summer of 1774 was spent in a journey to the Rhine. Goethe returned
to Frankfort at the beginning of August. On December 11, Goethe was
surprised by the visit of a stranger. It was Karl Ludwig von Knebel, who
was traveling with the two princes of Saxe-Weimar, the reigning duke,
Karl August, then just seventeen, and his younger brother, Constantine.
This meeting decided the future course of Goethe's life.

He now came under the influence of Lili Schönemann, the daughter of a
rich banker. This passion seemed to be of a more lasting nature than the
others.

Neither family approved of the engagement between the youthful couple.
Goethe tore himself away, and went for a tour in Switzerland.

He returned to Frankfort on July 20. August was spent delightfully with
Lili at Offenbach; his letters speak of nothing but her. He wrote some
scenes in Faust--the walk in the garden, the first conversation with
Mephistopheles, the interview with the scholar, the scene in Auerbach's
cellar. Egmont was also begun under the stimulus of the American
Rebellion. A way of escaping from his embarrassments was unexpectedly
opened to him. The duke of Weimar passed through Frankfort both before
and after his marriage, which took place on October 3. He invited Goethe
to stay at Weimar. It was not for his happiness or for Lili's that they
should have married. She afterwards thanked him deeply for the firmness
with which he overcame a temptation to which she would have yielded.

At this time the smaller German courts were beginning to take an
interest in German literature. Before the Seven Years' War the whole of
German culture had been French. Even now German writers found but scant
acceptance at Berlin or Vienna. The princes of the smaller states
surrounded themselves with literature and art. The duke of Brunswick had
made Lessing his librarian. The duke of Würtemberg paid special
attention to education; he promoted the views of Schubart, and founded
the school in which Schiller was educated. Hanover offered a home to
Zimmermann, and encouraged the development of Schlegel. Darmstadt was
especially fortunate. Caroline, the wife of the landgrave, had
surrounded herself with a literary circle, of which Merck was the moving
spirit. She had collected and privately printed the odes of Klopstock,
and her death in 1774 seemed to leave Darmstadt a desert. Her daughter,
Louisa, seemed to have inherited something of her mother's qualities.
She married, on October 3,1775, the young duke of Weimar, who was just
of age. She was of the house of Brunswick, and after two years of
marriage had been left a widow at nineteen, with two sons. She committed
their education to Count Görz, a prominent character in the history of
the time. She afterwards summoned Wieland to instruct the elder, and
Knebel to instruct the younger.

Upon this society Goethe rose like a star. From the moment of his
arrival he became the inseparable companion of the grand-duke. The first
months at Weimar were spent in a wild round of pleasure. Goethe was
treated as a guest. In the autumn, journeys, rides, shooting parties; in
the winter, balls, masquerades, skating parties by torch-light, dancing
at peasants' feasts, filled up their time. Evil reports flew about
Germany. We may believe that no decencies were disregarded except the
artificial restrictions of courtly etiquette. In the spring he had to
decide whether he would go or stay. In April the duke gave him the
little garden by the side of the Ilm. In June he invested him with the
title, so important to Germans, of /Geheimlegationsrath/, with a
seat and voice in the privy council and an income.

Goethe's life was at no time complete without the influence of a noble-
hearted woman. This he found in Charlotte von Stein, a lady of the
court, wife of the master of the horse.

The close of 1779 was occupied by a winter journey to Switzerland. Two
days were spent at Frankfort with Goethe's parents. Sesenheim was
visited, and left with satisfaction and contentment. At Strasburg they
found as to Lessing. The repertoire of the Weimar theater was stocked
with pieces of solid merit, which long held their place. In August,
1792, he accompanied the duke to the campaign in the Ardennes. In 1793
he went with his master to the siege of Mainz. Goethe took the old
German epic of Reynard the Fox, with which he had long been familiar,
and which, under the guise of animals, represents the conflicting
passions of men, and rewrote it.

Thus far he had produced but little since his return from Italy. His
friendship with Schiller was now to begin, an alliance which, in the
closeness of its intimacy and its deep effect on the character of both
friends, has scarcely a parallel in literary history. If Schiller was
not at this time at the height of his reputation, he had written many of
the works which have made his name famous. He was ten years younger than
Goethe. The Räuber plays the same part in his literary history as Götz
plays in that of Goethe. This had been followed by Fiesco and Kabale und
Liebe. In 1787 he settled at Weimar. The first effect of Schiller's
influence on Goethe was the completion of Wilhelm Meister's
Apprenticeship. It stands in the first rank of Goethe's writings. A more
solid result of the friendship between the poets was the production of
Hermann und Dorothea.

The latter half of 1798 was occupied with a tour in Switzerland. Before
its commencement he visited his mother at Frankfort for the last time,
and presented to her his wife and his son. In the beginning of 1805
Goethe was convinced that either he or Schiller would die in that year.
In January they were both seized with illness. Schiller was the first to
recover, and, visiting Goethe in his sick room, fell on his neck and
kissed him with intense emotion. On April 29 they saw each other for the
last time. Schiller was on his way to the theater, whither Goethe was
too ill to accompany him. They parted at the door of Schiller's house.
Schiller died on the evening of the 9th of May. No one dared to tell
Goethe the sad news, but he saw on the faces of those who surrounded him
that Schiller must be very ill. On the morrow of Schiller's death, when
his wife entered his room, he said, "Is it not true that Schiller was
very ill yesterday?" She began to sob. He then cried, "He is dead!"
"Thou hast spoken it thyself," she answered. Goethe turned aside and
covered his weeping eyes with his hands. Since that time Schiller and
Goethe have been inseparable in the minds of their countrymen.

On October 14, 1806, the battle of Jena was fought. The court had fled
from Weimar. On the 15th Napoleon and Goethe met. It was at the congress
of Erfurt, where the sovereigns and princes of Europe were assembled.
Goethe's presence was commanded by the duke. He was invited to an
audience on October 2. The emperor sat at a large round table eating his
breakfast. He beckoned Goethe to approach him. He asked how old he was,
expressed his wonder at the freshness of his appearance, said that he
had read Werther through seven times, and made some acute remarks on the
management of the plot. Then, after an interruption, he said that
tragedy ought to be the school of kings and peoples; that there was no
subject worthier of treatment than the death of Caesar, which Voltaire
had treated insufficiently. A great poet would have given prominence to
Caesar's plans for the regeneration of the world, and shown what a loss
mankind had suffered by his murder.

The idea of writing Faust seems to have come to Goethe in his earliest
manhood. He was brooding over it at the same time with Götz von
Berlichingen. Faust justly stands at the head of all Goethe's works.
Founded on a well-known popular tale, indebted for its interest and
pathos to incidents of universal experience, it deals with the deepest
problems which can engage the mind of man.

In 1809 he finished The Elective Affinities.

It was natural at the beginning of a new course of life that Goethe
should write an account of his past existence. The study of his
collected poems made it apparent to him how necessary it was to furnish
a key by which they might be understood. These various causes led to the
composition of /Dichtung und Wahrheit/ (Poetry and Truth), an
autobiographical history of the poet's life from his birth till his
settlement at Weimar. This work is the cause of much embarrassment to
the poet's biographers. Where it ought to be the most trustworthy source
of information, it is most misleading.

Once more in his old age Goethe came under the sovereignty of a woman.
She was Marianne von Willemer, the newly married wife of a Frankfort
banker. Goethe made her acquaintance in a journey which he took in the
Rhine country. The correspondence between Goethe and Marianne was
published in 1877. It extends almost to the day of his death, and
includes letters from Eckermann giving an account of his last moments.

The last twelve years of Goethe's life, when he had passed his
seventieth birthday, were occupied by his criticisms on the literature
of foreign countries, by the Wanderjahre, and the second part of Faust.
He was the literary dictator of Germany and of Europe. The Wanderjahre
contains some of Goethe's most beautiful conceptions, The Flight Into
Egypt, The Description of the Pedagogic Province, The Parable of the
Three Reverences.

The second part of Faust has been a battlefield of controversy since its
publication, and demands fuller attention. Its fate may be compared with
that of the latest works of Beethoven. For a long time it was regarded
as impossible to understand, and as not worth understanding, the
production of a great artist whose faculties had been impaired by age.
By degrees it has, by careful labor, become intelligible to us, and the
conviction is growing that it is the deepest and most important work of
the author's life.

He had much to darken his latter days. His wife had died in 1816. He
felt her loss bitterly. The Duchess Amalia had died eight years before.
He had now to undergo bitterer experiences when he was less able to bear
them. Frau von Stein, with whom he had renewed his friendship, if not
his love, died in January, 1827; and in June, 1828, he lost the
companion of his youth, the Grand Duke Karl August, who died suddenly,
away from Weimar.

We must pass to the closing scenes. On Thursday, March 15, 1832, he
spent his last cheerful and happy day. He awoke the next morning with a
chill. From this he gradually recovered, and on Monday was so much
better that he designed to begin his regular work on the next day. But
in the middle of the night he woke with a deathly coldness, which
extended from his hands over his body, and which took many hours to
subdue. It then appeared that the lungs were attacked, and that there
was no hope of his recovery. Goethe did not anticipate death. He sat
fully clothed in his arm chair, made attempts to reach his study, spoke
confidently of his recovery, and of the walks he would take in the fine
April days. His daughter-in-law Ottilie tended him faithfully. On the
morning of the 22d his strength gradually left him. He sat slumbering in
his arm chair, holding Ottilie's hand. Her name was constantly on his
lips. His mind occasionally wandered, at one time to his beloved
Schiller, at another to a fair female head with black curls, some
passion of his youth. His last words were an order to his servant to
open the second shutter to let in more light. After this he traced with
his forefinger letters in the air. At half-past eleven in the day he
drew himself, without any sign of pain, into the left corner of his arm
chair, and went so peacefully to sleep that it was long before the
watchers knew that his spirit was really gone. He is buried in the
grand-ducal vault, where the bones of Schiller are also laid.



AUTOBIOGRAPHY TRUTH AND FICTION RELATING TO MY LIFE



AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

 As a preface to the present work, which, perhaps, more than another,
requires one, I adduce the letter of a friend, by which so serious an
undertaking was occasioned.

"We have now, my dear friend, collected the twelve parts of your
poetical works, and, on reading them through, find much that is known,
much that is unknown; while much that had been forgotten is revived by
this collection. These twelve volumes standing before us in uniform
appearance, we cannot refrain from regarding as a whole; and one would
like to sketch therefrom some image of the author and his talents. But
it cannot be denied, considering the vigor with which he began his
literary career, and the length of time which has since elapsed, that a
dozen small volumes must appear incommensurate. Nor can one forget,
that, with respect to the detached pieces, they have mostly been called
forth by special occasions, and reflect particular external objects, as
well as distinct grades of inward culture; while it is equally clear,
that temporary moral and æsthetic maxims and convictions prevail in
them. As a whole, however, these productions remain without connection;
nay, it is often difficult to believe that they emanate from one and the
same writer.

"Your friends, in the mean time, have not relinquished the inquiry, and
try, as they become more closely acquainted with your mode of life and
thought, to guess many a riddle, to solve many a problem; indeed, with
the assistance of an old liking, and a connection of many years'
standing, they find a charm even in the difficulties which present
themselves. Yet a little assistance here and there would not be
unacceptable, and you cannot well refuse this to our friendly
entreaties.

"The first thing, then, we require, is that your poetical works,
arranged in the late edition according to some internal relations, may
be presented by you in chronological order, and that the states of life
and feeling which afforded the examples that influenced you, and the
theoretical principles by which you were governed, may be imparted in
some kind of connection. Bestow this labor for the gratification of a
limited circle, and perhaps it may give rise to something that will be
entertaining and useful to an extensive one. The author, to the most
advanced period of his life, should not relinquish the advantage of
communicating, even at a distance, with those whom affection binds to
him; and if it is not granted to every one to step forth anew, at a
certain age, with surprising and powerful productions, yet just at that
period of life, when knowledge is most perfect, and consciousness most
distinct, it must be a very agreeable and re-animating task to treat
former creations as new matter, and work them up into a kind of Last
Part, which may serve once more for the edification of those who have
been previously edified with and by the artist."

This desire, so kindly expressed, immediately awakened within me an
inclination to comply with it: for if, in the early years of life, our
passions lead us to follow our own course, and, in order not to swerve
from it, we impatiently repel the demands of others; so, in our later
days, it becomes highly advantageous to us, should any sympathy excite
and determine us, cordially, to new activity. I therefore instantly
undertook the preparatory labor of separating the poems, both great and
small, of my twelve volumes, and of arranging them according to years. I
strove to recall the times and circumstances under which each had been
produced. But the task soon grew more difficult, as full explanatory
notes and illustrations were necessary to fill up the chasms between
those which had already been given to the world. For, in the first
place, all on which I had originally exercised myself were wanting, many
that had been begun and not finished were also wanting, and of many that
were finished even the external form had completely disappeared, having
since been entirely reworked and cast into a different shape. Besides, I
had also to call to mind how I had labored in the sciences and other
arts, and what, in such apparently foreign departments, both
individually and in conjunction with friends, I had practised in
silence, or had laid before the public.

All this I wished to introduce by degrees for the satisfaction of my
well-wishers, but my efforts and reflections always led me farther on;
since while I was anxious to comply with that very considerate request,
and labored to set forth in succession my internal emotions, external
influences, and the steps which, theoretically and practically, I had
trod, I was carried out of my narrow private sphere into the wide world.
The images of a hundred important men, who either directly or indirectly
had influenced me, presented themselves to my view; and even the
prodigious movements of the great political world, which had operated
most extensively upon me, as well as upon the whole mass of my
contemporaries, had to be particularly considered. For this seems to be
the main object of biography,--to exhibit the man in relation to the
features of his time, and to show to what extent they have opposed or
favored his progress; what view of mankind and the world he has formed
from them, and how far he himself, if an artist, poet, or author, may
externally reflect them. But for this is required what is scarcely
attainable; namely, that the individual should know himself and his
age,--himself, so far as he has remained the same under all
circumstances; his age, as that which carries along with it, determines
and fashions, both the willing and the unwilling: so that one may
venture to pronounce, that any person born ten years earlier or later
would have been quite a different being, both as regards his own culture
and his influence on others.

In this manner, from such reflections and endeavors, from such
recollections and considerations, arose the present delineation; and
from this point of view, as to its origin, will it be the best enjoyed
and used, and most impartially estimated. For any thing further it may
be needful to say, particularly with respect to the half-poetical, half-
historic, mode of treatment, an opportunity will, no doubt, frequently
occur in the course of the narrative.



CONTENTS.

PART THE FIRST.



FIRST BOOK

SECOND BOOK

THIRD BOOK

FOURTH BOOK

FIFTH BOOK

PART THE SECOND.

SIXTH BOOK

SEVENTH BOOK

EIGHTH BOOK

NINTH BOOK



PART THE FIRST

FIRST BOOK.

On the 28th of August, 1749, at mid-day, as the clock struck twelve, I
came into the world, at Frankfort-on-the-Main. My horoscope was
propitious: the sun stood in the sign of the Virgin, and had culminated
for the day; Jupiter and Venus looked on him with a friendly eye, and
Mercury not adversely; while Saturn and Mars kept themselves
indifferent; the moon alone, just full, exerted the power of her
reflection all the more, as she had then reached her planetary hour. She
opposed herself, therefore, to my birth, which could not be accomplished
until this hour was passed.

These good aspects, which the astrologers managed subsequently to reckon
very auspicious for me, may have been the causes of my preservation;
for, through the unskilfulness of the midwife, I came into the world as
dead; and only after various efforts was I enabled to see the light.
This event, which had put our household into sore straits, turned to the
advantage of my fellow-citizens, inasmuch as my grandfather, the
/Schultheiss/ [Footnote: A chief judge or magistrate of the town.],
John Wolfgang Textor, took occasion from it to have an /accoucheur/
appointed, and to introduce, or revive, the tuition of midwives, which
may have done some good to those who were born after me.

When we desire to recall what happened to us in the earliest period of
youth, it often happens that we confound what we have heard from others
with that which we really possess from our own direct experience.
Without, therefore, instituting a very close investigation into the
point, which, after all, could lead to nothing, I am conscious that we
lived in an old house, which, in fact, consisted of two adjoining
houses, that had been opened into each other. A winding staircase led to
rooms on different levels, and the unevenness of the stories was
remedied by steps. For us children,--a younger sister and myself,--the
favorite resort was a spacious floor below, near the door of which was a
large wooden lattice that allowed us direct communication with the
street and open air. A bird-cage of this sort, with which many houses
were provided, was called a frame (/Geräms/). The women sat in it
to sew and knit; the cook picked her salad there; female neighbors
chatted with each other; and the streets consequently, in the fine
season, wore a southern aspect. One felt at ease while in communication
with the public. We children, too, by means of these frames, were
brought into contact with our neighbors, of whom three brothers Von
Ochsenstein, the surviving sons of the deceased /Schultheiss/,
living on the other side of the way, won my love, and occupied and
diverted themselves with me in many ways.

Our family liked to tell of all sorts of waggeries to which I was
enticed by these otherwise grave and solitary men. Let one of these
pranks suffice for all. A crockery-fair had just been held, from which
not only our kitchen had been supplied for a while with articles for a
long time to come, but a great deal of small gear of the same ware had
been purchased as playthings for us children. One fine afternoon, when
every thing was quiet in the house, I whiled away the time with my pots
and dishes in the frame, and, finding that nothing more was to be got
out of them, hurled one of them into the street. The Von Ochsensteins,
who saw me so delighted at the fine smash it made, that I clapped my
hands for joy, cried out, "Another." I was not long in flinging out a
pot; and, as they made no end to their calls for more, by degrees the
whole collection, platters, pipkins, mugs and all, were dashed upon the
pavement. My neighbors continued to express their approbation, and I was
highly delighted to give them pleasure. But my stock was exhausted; and
still they shouted, "More." I ran, therefore, straight to the kitchen,
and brought the earthenware, which produced a still livelier spectacle
in breaking; and thus I kept running backwards and forwards, fetching
one plate after another, as I could reach it from where they stood in
rows on the shelf. But, as that did not satisfy my audience, I devoted
all the ware that I could drag out to similar destruction. It was not
till afterwards that any one appeared to hinder and forbid. The mischief
was done; and, in place of so much broken crockery, there was at least a
ludicrous story, in which the roguish authors took special delight to
the end of their days.

My father's mother, for it was her house in which we dwelt, lived in a
large back-room directly on the ground-floor; and we were accustomed to
carry on our sports even up to her chair, and, when she was ill, up to
her bedside. I remember her, as it were, a spirit,--a handsome, thin
woman, always neatly dressed in white. Mild, gentle, and kind, she has
ever remained in my memory.

The street in which our house was situated passed by the name of the
Stag-Ditch; but, as neither stags nor ditches were to be seen, we wished
to have the term explained. They told us that our house stood on a spot
that was once outside the city, and that, where the street now was,
there had formerly been a ditch, in which a number of stags were kept.
These stags were preserved and fed here because the senate, every year,
according to an ancient custom, feasted publicly on a stag, which was
therefore always at hand in the ditch for such a festival, in case
princes or knights interfered with the city's right of chase outside, or
the walls were encompassed or besieged by an enemy. This pleased us
much, and we wished that such a lair for tame animals could have been
seen in our times.

The back of the house, from the second story particularly, commanded a
very pleasant prospect over an almost immeasurable extent of neighboring
gardens, stretching to the very walls of the city. But, alas! in
transforming what were once public grounds into private gardens, our
house, and some others lying towards the corner of the street, had been
much stinted; since the houses towards the horse-market had appropriated
spacious out-houses and large gardens to themselves, while a tolerably
high wall shut us out from these adjacent paradises.

On the second floor was a room which was called the garden-room, because
they had there endeavored to supply the want of a garden by means of a
few plants placed before the window. As I grew older, it was there that
I made my favorite, not melancholy, but somewhat sentimental, retreat.
Over these gardens, beyond the city's walls and ramparts, might be seen
a beautiful and fertile plain, the same which stretches towards Höchst.
In the summer season I commonly learned my lessons there, and watched
the thunderstorms, but could never look my fill at the setting sun,
which went down directly opposite my windows. And when, at the same
time, I saw the neighbors wandering through their gardens, taking care
of their flowers, the children playing, parties of friends enjoying
themselves, and could hear the bowls rolling and the ninepins dropping,
it early excited within me a feeling of solitude, and a sense of vague
longing resulting from it, which, conspiring with the seriousness and
awe implanted in me by nature, exerted its influence at an early age,
and showed itself more distinctly in after-years.

The old, many-cornered, and gloomy arrangement of the house was,
moreover, adapted to awaken dread and terror in childish minds.
Unfortunately, too, the principle of discipline, that young persons
should be early deprived of all fear for the awful and invisible, and
accustomed to the terrible, still prevailed. We children, therefore,
were compelled to sleep alone; and when we found this impossible, and
softly slipped from our beds, to seek the society of the servants and
maids, our father, with his dressing-gown turned inside out, which
disguised him sufficiently for the purpose, placed himself in the way,
and frightened us back to our resting-places. The evil effect of this
any one may imagine. How is he who is encompassed with a double terror
to be emancipated from fear? My mother, always cheerful and gay, and
willing to render others so, discovered a much better pedagogical
expedient. She managed to gain her end by rewards. It was the season for
peaches, the plentiful enjoyment of which she promised us every morning
if we overcame our fears during the night. In this way she succeeded,
and both parties were satisfied.

In the interior of the house my eyes were chiefly attracted by a series
of Roman views, with which my father had ornamented an ante-room. They
were engravings by some of the accomplished predecessors of Piranesi,
who well understood perspective and architecture, and whose touches were
clear and excellent. There I saw every day the Piazza del Popolo, the
Colosseum, the Piazza of St. Peter's, and St. Peter's Church, within and
without, the castle of St. Angelo, and many other places. These images
impressed themselves deeply upon me, and my otherwise very laconic
father was often so kind as to furnish descriptions of the objects. His
partiality for the Italian language, and for every thing pertaining to
Italy, was very decided. A small collection of marbles and natural
curiosities, which he had brought with him thence, he often showed to
us; and he devoted a great part of his time to a description of his
travels, written in Italian, the copying and correction of which he
slowly and accurately completed, in several parcels, with his own hand.
A lively old teacher of Italian, called Giovinazzi, was of service to
him in this work. The old man, moreover, did not sing badly, and my
mother every day must needs accompany him and herself upon the
clavichord; and thus I speedily learned the "Solitario bosco ombroso,"
so as to know it by heart before I understood it.

My father was altogether of a didactic turn, and in his retirement from
business liked to communicate to others what he knew or was able to do.
Thus, during the first years of their marriage, he had kept my mother
busily engaged in writing, playing the clavichord, and singing, by which
means she had been laid under the necessity of acquiring some knowledge
and a slight readiness in the Italian tongue.

Generally we passed all our leisure hours with my grandmother, in whose
spacious apartment we found plenty of room for our sports. She contrived
to engage us with various trifles, and to regale us with all sorts of
nice morsels. But, one Christmas evening, she crowned all her kind deeds
by having a puppet-show exhibited before us, and thus unfolding a new
world in the old house. This unexpected drama attracted our young minds
with great force; upon the boy particularly it made a very strong
impression, which continued to vibrate with a great and lasting effect.

The little stage, with its speechless personages, which at the outset
had only been exhibited to us, but was afterwards given over for our own
use and dramatic vivification, was prized more highly by us children, as
it was the last bequest of our good grandmother, whom encroaching
disease first withdrew from our sight, and death next tore away from our
hearts forever. Her departure was of still more importance to our
family, as it drew after it a complete change in our condition.

As long as my grandmother lived, my father had refrained from changing
or renovating the house, even in the slightest particular; though it was
known that he had pretty large plans of building, which were now
immediately begun. In Frankfort, as in many other old towns, when
anybody put up a wooden structure, he ventured, for the sake of space,
to make, not only the first, but each successive, story project over the
lower one, by which means narrow streets especially were rendered
somewhat dark and confined. At last a law was passed, that every one
putting up a new house from the ground, should confine his projections
to the first upper story, and carry the others up perpendicularly. My
father, that he might not lose the projecting space in the second story,
caring little for outward architectural appearance, and anxious only for
the good and convenient arrangement of the interior, resorted to the
expedient which others had employed before him, of propping the upper
part of the house, until one part after another had been removed from
the bottom upwards, and a new house, as it were, inserted in its place.
Thus, while comparatively none of the old structure remained, the new
one merely passed for a repair. Now, as the tearing down and building up
was done gradually, my father determined not to quit the house, that he
might better direct and give his orders; as he possessed a good
knowledge of the technicalities of building. At the same time, he would
not suffer his family to leave him. This new epoch was very surprising
and strange for the children. To see the rooms in which they had so
often been confined and pestered with wearisome tasks and studies, the
passages they had played in, the walls which had always been kept so
carefully clean, all falling before the mason's hatchet and the
carpenter's axe,--and that from the bottom upwards; to float as it were
in the air, propped up by beams, being, at the same time, constantly
confined to a certain lesson or definite task,--all this produced a
commotion in our young heads that was not easily settled. But the young
people felt the inconvenience less, because they had somewhat more space
for play than before, and had many opportunities of swinging on beams,
and playing at see-saw with the boards.

At first my father obstinately persisted in carrying out his plan; but
when at last even the roof was partly removed, and the rain reached our
beds, in spite of the carpets that had been taken up, converted into
tarpaulin, and stretched over as a defense, he determined, though
reluctantly, that the children should be intrusted for a time to some
kind friends, who had already offered their services, and sent to a
public school.

This transition was rather unpleasant; for, when the children, who had
all along been kept at home in a secluded, pure, refined, yet strict
manner, were thrown among a rude mass of young creatures, they were
compelled unexpectedly to suffer every thing from the vulgar, bad, and
even base, since they lacked both weapons and skill to protect
themselves.

It was properly about this period that I first became acquainted with my
native city, which I strolled over with more and more freedom, in every
direction, sometimes alone, and sometimes in the company of lively
companions. To convey to others in any degree the impression made upon
me by these grave and revered spots, I must here introduce a description
of my birthplace, as in its different parts it was gradually unfolded to
me. What I liked more than any thing was, to promenade on the great
bridge spanning the Main. Its length, its firmness, and its fine
appearance, rendered it a notable structure; and it was, besides, almost
the only memorial left from ancient times of the precautions due from
the civil government to its citizens. The beautiful stream above and
below bridge attracted my eye; and, when the gilt weathercock on the
bridge-cross glittered in the sunshine, I always had a pleasant feeling.
Generally I extended my walk through Sachsenhausen, and for a
/Kreutzer/ was ferried comfortably across the river. I was now
again on this side of the stream, stole along to the wine-market, and
admired the mechanism of the cranes when goods were unloaded.

But it was particularly entertaining to watch the arrival of the market-
boats, from which so many and such extraordinary figures were seen to
disembark. On entering the city, the Saalhof, which at least stood on
the spot where the castle of Emperor Charlemagne and his successors was
reported to have been, was greeted every time with profound reverence.
One liked to lose one's self in the old trading-town, particularly on
market-days, among the crowd collected about the church of St.
Bartholomew. From the earliest times, throngs of buyers and sellers had
gathered there; and the place being thus occupied, it was not easy in
later days to bring about a more roomy and cheerful arrangement. The
booths of the so-called /Pfarreisen/ were very important places for
us children, and we carried many a /Batzen</> to them in order to
purchase sheets of colored paper stamped with gold animals; though one
could but seldom make his way through the narrow, crowded, and dirty
market-place. I call to mind, also, that I always flew past the
adjoining meat-stalls, narrow and disgusting as they were, in perfect
horror. On the other hand, the Roman Hill (/Romerberg/) was a most
delightful place for walking. The way to the New-Town, along by the new
shops, was always cheering and pleasant; yet we regretted that a street
did not lead into the Zeil by the Church of Our Lady, and that we always
had to go a roundabout way by the /Hasengasse/ or the Catherine
Gate. But what chiefly attracted the child's attention, were the many
little towns within the town, the fortresses within the fortress; viz.,
the walled monastic enclosures, and several other precincts, remaining
from earlier times, and more or less like castles,--as the Nuremberg
Court, the Compostella, the Braunfels, the ancestral house of the family
of Stallburg, and several strongholds, in later days transformed into
dwellings and warehouses. No architecture of an elevating kind was then
to be seen in Frankfort; and every thing pointed to a period long past
and unquiet, both for town and district. Gates and towers, which defined
the bounds of the old city,--then, farther on again, gates, towers,
walls, bridges, ramparts, moats, with which the new city was
encompassed,--all showed, but too plainly, that a necessity for guarding
the common weal in disastrous times had induced these arrangements, that
all the squares and streets, even the newest, broadest, and best laid
out, owed their origin to chance and caprice, and not to any regulating
mind. A certain liking for the antique was thus implanted in the boy,
and was specially nourished and promoted by old chronicles and woodcuts,
as, for instance, those of Grave relating to the siege of Frankfort. At
the same time a different taste was developed in him for observing the
conditions of mankind in their manifold variety and naturalness, without
regard to their importance or beauty. It was, therefore, one of our
favorite walks, which we endeavored to take now and then in the course
of a year, to follow the circuit of the path inside the city-walls.
Gardens, courts, and back buildings extend to the /Zwinger/; and we
saw many thousand people amid their little domestic and secluded
circumstances. From the ornamental and show gardens of the rich, to the
orchards of the citizen, anxious about his necessities; from thence to
the factories, bleaching-grounds, and similar establishments, even to
the burying-grounds,--for a little world lay within the limits of the
city,--we passed a varied, strange spectacle, which changed at every
step, and with the enjoyment of which our childish curiosity was never
satisfied. In fact, the celebrated Devil-upon-two-sticks, when he lifted
the roofs of Madrid at night, scarcely did more for his friend than was
here done for us in the bright sunshine and open air. The keys that were
to be made use of in this journey, to gain us a passage through many a
tower, stair, and postern, were in the hands of the authorities, whose
subordinates we never failed to coax into good humor.

But a more important, and in one sense more fruitful, place for us, was
the city-hall, named from the Romans. In its lower vault-like rooms we
liked but too well to lose ourselves. We obtained an entrance, too, into
the large and very simple session-room of the council. The walls as well
as the arched ceiling were white, though wainscoted to a certain height;
and the whole was without a trace of painting, or any kind of carved
work; only, high up on the middle wall, might be read this brief
inscription:--

                      "One man's word is no man's word:
                       Justice needs that both be heard."

After the most ancient fashion, benches were ranged around the
wainscoting, and raised one step above the floor for the accommodation
of the members of the assembly. This readily suggested to us why the
order of rank in our senate was distributed by benches. To the left of
the door, on the opposite corner, sat the /Schöffen/; in the corner
itself the /Schultheiss/, who alone had a small table before him;
those of the second bench sat in the space to his left as far as the
wall to where the windows were; while along the windows ran the third
bench, occupied by the craftsmen. In the midst of the hall stood a table
for the registrar (/Protoculführer/).

Once within the /Römer/, we even mingled with the crowd at the
audiences of the burgomasters. But whatever related to the election and
coronation of the emperors possessed a greater charm. We managed to gain
the favor of the keepers, so as to be allowed to mount the new gay
imperial staircase, which was painted in fresco, and on other occasions
closed with a grating. The election-chamber, with its purple hangings
and admirably fringed gold borders, filled us with awe. The
representations of animals, on which little children or genii, clothed
in the imperial ornaments and laden with the insignia of the empire,
made a curious figure, were observed by us with great attention; and we
even hoped that we might live to see, some time or other, a coronation
with our own eyes. They had great difficulty to get us out of the great
imperial hall, when we had been once fortunate enough to steal in; and
we reckoned him our truest friend, who, while we looked at the half-
lengths of all the emperors painted around at a certain height, would
tell us something of their deeds.

We listened to many a legend of Charlemagne. But that which was
historically interesting for us began with Rudolph of Hapsburg, who by
his courage put an end to such violent commotions. Charles the Fourth
also attracted our notice. We had already heard of the Golden Bull, and
of the statutes for the administration of criminal justice. We knew,
too, that he had not made the Frankforters suffer for their adhesion to
his noble rival, Emperor Gunther of Schwarzburg. We heard Maximilian
praised, both as a friend to mankind, and to the townsmen, his subjects,
and were also told that it had been prophesied of him he would be the
last emperor of a German house, which unhappily came to pass, as after
his death the choice wavered only between the king of Spain
(/afterwards/), Charles V., and the king of France, Francis I. With
some anxiety it was added, that a similar prophecy, or rather
intimation, was once more in circulation; for it was obvious that there
was room left for the portrait of only one more emperor,--a circumstance
which, though seemingly accidental, filled the patriotic with concern.

Having once entered upon this circuit, we did not fail to repair to the
cathedral, and there visit the grave of that brave Gunther, so much
prized both by friend and foe. The famous stone which formerly covered
it is set up in the choir. The door close by, leading into the conclave,
remained long shut against us, until we at last managed, through the
higher authorities, to gain access to this celebrated place. But we
should have done better had we continued as before to picture it merely
in our imagination; for we found this room, which is so remarkable in
German history, where the most powerful princes were accustomed to meet
for an act so momentous, in no respect worthily adorned, and even
disfigured with beams, poles, scaffolding, and similar lumber, which
people had wanted to put out of the way. The imagination, for that very
reason, was the more excited and the heart elevated, when we soon after
received permission to be present in the city-hall, at the exhibition of
the Golden Bull to some distinguished strangers.

The boy then heard, with much curiosity, what his own family, as well as
other older relations and acquaintances, liked to tell and repeat; viz.,
the histories of the two last coronations, which had followed close upon
each other; for there was no Frankforter of a certain age who would not
have regarded these two events, and their attendant circumstances, as
the crowning glory of his whole life. Splendid as had been the
coronation of Charles Seventh, during which particularly the French
ambassador had given magnificent feasts at great cost and with
distinguished taste, the results were all the more afflicting to the
good emperor, who could not preserve his capital Munich, and was
compelled in some degree to implore the hospitality of his imperial
towns.

Although the coronation of Francis First was not so strikingly splendid
as the former one, it was dignified by the presence of the Empress Maria
Theresa, whose beauty appears to have created as much impression on the
men as the earnest and noble form and the blue eyes of Charles Seventh
on the women. At any rate, both sexes vied with each other in giving to
the attentive boy a highly favorable opinion of both these personages.
All these descriptions and narratives were given in a serene and quiet
state of mind; for the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle had, for the moment, put
an end to all feuds: and they spoke at their ease of past contests, as
well as of their former festivities,--the battle of Dettingen for
instance, and other remarkable events of by-gone years; and all that was
important or dangerous seemed, as generally happens when a peace has
been concluded, to have occurred only to afford entertainment to
prosperous and unconcerned people.

Half a year had scarcely passed away in this narrow patriotism before
the fairs began, which always produced an incredible ferment in the
heads of all children. The erection, in so short a time, of so many
booths, creating a new town within the old one; the roll and crush, the
unloading and unpacking of wares,--excited from the very first dawn of
consciousness an insatiable active curiosity, and a boundless desire for
childish property, which the boy with increasing years endeavored to
gratify, in one way or another, as far as his little purse permitted. At
the same time, he obtained a notion of what the world produces, what it
wants, and what the inhabitants of its different parts exchange with
each other.

These great epochs, which came round regularly in spring and autumn,
were announced by curious solemnities, which seemed the more dignified
because they vividly brought before us the old time, and what had come
down from it to ourselves. On Escort Day, the whole population were on
their legs, thronging to the /Fahrgasse/, to the bridge, and beyond
/Sachsenhausen/; all the windows were occupied, though nothing
unusual took place on that day; the crowd seeming to be there only for
the sake of jostling each other, and the spectators merely to look at
one another; for the real occasion of their coming did not begin till
nightfall, and was then rather taken upon trust than seen with the eyes.

The affair was thus: in those old, unquiet times, when every one did
wrong according to his pleasure, or helped the right as his liking led
him, traders on their way to the fairs were so wilfully beset and
harassed by waylayers, both of noble and ignoble birth, the princes and
other persons of power caused their people to be accompanied to
Frankfort by an armed escort. Now, the burghers of the imperial city
would yield no rights pertaining to themselves or their district: they
went out to meet the advancing party; and thus contests often arose as
to how far the escort should advance, or whether it had a right to enter
the city at all. But as this took place, not only in regard to matters
of trade and fairs, but also when high personages came, in times of
peace or war, and especially on the days of election; and as the affair
often came to blows when a train which was not to be endured in the city
strove to make its way in along with its lord,--many negotiations had
from time to time been resorted to, and many temporary arrangements
concluded, though always with reservations of rights on both sides. The
hope had not been relinquished of composing once for all a quarrel that
had already lasted for centuries, inasmuch as the whole institution, on
account of which it had been so long and often so hotly contested, might
be looked upon as nearly useless, or at least as superfluous.

Meanwhile, on those days, the city cavalry in several divisions, each
having a commander in front, rode forth from different gates, and found
on a certain spot some troopers or hussars of the persons entitled to an
escort, who, with their leaders, were well received and entertained.
They staid till towards evening, and then rode back to the city,
scarcely visible to the expectant crowd, many a city knight not being in
a condition to manage his horse, or keep himself in the saddle. The most
important bands returned by the bridge-gate, where the pressure was
consequently the strongest. Last of all, just as night fell, the
Nuremberg post-coach arrived, escorted in the same way, and always
containing, as the people fancied, in pursuance of custom, an old woman.
Its arrival, therefore, was a signal for all the urchins to break out
into an ear-splitting shout, though it was utterly impossible to
distinguish any one of the passengers within. The throng that pressed
after the coach through the bridge-gate was quite incredible, and
perfectly bewildering to the senses. The houses nearest the bridge were
those, therefore, most in demand among spectators.

Another more singular ceremony, by which the people were excited in
broad daylight, was the Piper's Court (/Pfeifergericht/). It
commemorated those early times when important larger trading-towns
endeavored, if not to abolish tolls altogether, at least to bring about
a reduction of them, as they increased in proportion with trade and
industry. They were allowed this privilege by the emperor, who needed
their aid, when it was in his power to grant it, but commonly only for
one year; so that it had to be annually renewed. This was effected by
means of symbolical gifts, which were presented before the opening of
St. Bartholomew's Fair to the imperial magistrate (/Schultheiss/),
who might have sometimes been the chief toll-gatherer; and, for the sake
of a more imposing show, the gifts were offered when he was sitting in
full court with the /Schöffen/. But when the chief magistrate
afterwards came to be no longer appointed by the emperor, and was
elected by the city itself, he still retained these privileges; and thus
both the immunities of the cities from toll, and the ceremonies by which
the representatives from Worms, Nuremberg, and old Bamberg, once
acknowledged the ancient favor, had come down to our times. The day
before Lady Day, an open court was proclaimed. In an enclosed space in
the great Imperial Hall, the Schöffen took their elevated seats; a step
higher, sat the /Schultheiss/ in the midst of them; while below, on
the right hand, were the procurators of both parties invested with
plenipotentiary powers. The /Actuarius/ begins to read aloud the
weighty judgments reserved for this day: the lawyers demand copies,
appeal, or do whatever else seems necessary. All at once a singular sort
of music announces, if we may so speak, the advent of former centuries.
It proceeds from three pipers, one of whom plays an old /shawm/,
another a /sackbut/, and the third a /pommer/, or oboe. They
wear blue mantles trimmed with gold, having the notes made fast to their
sleeves, and their heads covered. Having thus left their inn at ten
o'clock, followed by the deputies and their attendants, and stared at by
all, natives and strangers, they enter the hall. The law proceedings are
stayed, the pipers and their train halt before the railing, the deputy
steps in and stations himself in front of the /Schultheiss/. The
emblematic presents, which were required to be precisely the same as in
the old precedents, consisted commonly of the staple wares of the city
offering them. Pepper passed, as it were, for every thing else; and,
even on this occasion, the deputy brought a handsomely turned wooden
goblet filled with pepper. Upon it lay a pair of gloves, curiously
slashed, stitched, and tasselled with silk,--a token of a favor granted
and received,--such as the emperor himself made use of in certain cases.
Along with this was a white staff, which in former times could not
easily be dispensed with in judicial proceedings. Some small pieces of
silver money were added: and the city of Worms brought an old felt hat,
which was always redeemed again; so that the same one had been a witness
of these ceremonies for many years.

After the deputy had made his address, handed over his present, and
received from the /Schultheiss/ assurance of continued favor, he
quitted the enclosed circle, the pipers blew, the train departed as it
had come, the court pursued its business, until the second and at last
the third deputy had been introduced. For each came some time after the
other, partly that the pleasure of the public might thus be prolonged,
and partly because they were always the same antiquated /virtuosi/
whom Nuremburg, for itself and its co-cities, had undertaken to
maintain, and produce annually at the appointed place.

We children were particularly interested in this festival, because we
were not a little flattered to see our grandfather in a place of so much
honor; and because commonly, on the self-same day, we used to visit him,
quite modestly, in order that we might, when my grandmother had emptied
the pepper into her spice-box, lay hold of a cup or small rod, a pair of
gloves, or an old /Räder Albus/. [Footnote: An old silver coin.]
These symbolical ceremonies, restoring antiquity as if by magic, could
not be explained to us without leading us back into past times, and
informing us of the manners, customs, and feelings of those early
ancestors who were so strangely made present to us by pipers and
deputies seemingly risen from the dead, and by tangible gifts which
might be possessed by ourselves.

These venerable solemnities were followed, in the fine season, by many
festivals, delightful for us children, which took place in the open air,
outside the city. On the right shore of the Main, going down, about half
an hour's walk from the gate, there rises a sulphur-spring, neatly
enclosed, and surrounded by aged lindens. Not far from it stands the
Good-People's-Court, formerly a hospital erected for the sake of the
waters. On the commons around, the herds of cattle from the neighborhood
were collected on a certain day of the year; and the herdsmen, together
with their sweethearts, celebrated a rural festival with dancing and
singing, with all sorts of pleasure and clownishness. On the other side
of the city lay a similar but larger common, likewise graced with a
spring and still finer lindens. Thither, at Whitsuntide, the flocks of
sheep were driven: and, at the same time, the poor, pale orphan children
were allowed to come out of their walls into the open air; for the
thought had not yet occurred that these destitute creatures, who must
some time or other help themselves through the world, ought soon to be
brought in contact with it; that, instead of being kept in dreary
confinement, they should rather be accustomed to serve and to endure;
and that there was every reason to strengthen them physically and
morally from their infancy. The nurses and maids, always ready to take a
walk, never failed to carry or conduct us to such places, even in our
first years; so that these rural festivals belong to the earliest
impressions that I can recall.

Meanwhile, our house had been finished, and that too in tolerably short
time; because every thing had been judiciously planned and prepared, and
the needful money provided. We now found ourselves all together again,
and felt comfortable; for, when a well-considered plan is once carried
out, we forget the various inconveniences of the means that were
necessary to its accomplishment. The building, for a private residence,
was roomy enough, light and cheerful throughout, with broad staircases,
agreeable parlors, and a prospect of the gardens that could be enjoyed
easily from several of the windows. The internal completion, and what
pertained to mere ornament and finish, was gradually accomplished, and
served at the same time for occupation and amusement.

The first thing brought into order was my father's collection of books,
the best of which, in calf and half-calf binding, were to ornament the
walls of his office and study. He possessed the beautiful Dutch editions
of the Latin classics, which, for the sake of outward uniformity, he had
endeavored to procure all in quarto; and also many other works relating
to Roman antiquities and the more elegant jurisprudence. The most
eminent Italian poets were not wanting, and for Tasso he showed a great
predilection. There were also the best and most recent Travels, and he
took great delight in correcting and completing Keyssler and Nemeiz from
them. Nor had he omitted to surround himself with all needful aids to
learning, such as dictionaries of various languages, and encyclopædias
of science and art, which, with much else adapted to profit and
amusement, might be consulted at will.

The other half of this collection, in neat parchment bindings, with very
beautifully written titles, was placed in a separate attic. The
acquisition of new books, as well as their binding and arrangement, he
pursued with great composure and love of order; and he was much
influenced in his opinion by the critical notices that ascribed
particular merit to any work. His collection of juridical treatises was
annually increased by some volumes.

Next, the pictures, which in the old house had hung about promiscuously,
were now collected, and symmetrically hung on the walls of a cheerful
room near the study, all in black frames set off with gilt mouldings. It
was my father's principle, to which he gave frequent and even passionate
utterance, that one ought to employ the living masters, and to spend
less upon the departed, in the estimation of whom prejudice greatly
concurred. He had the notion that it was precisely the same with
pictures as with Rhenish wines, which, though age may impart to them a
higher value, can be produced in any coming year of just as excellent
quality as in years past. After the lapse of some time, the new wine
also becomes old, quite as valuable and perhaps more delicious. This
opinion he chiefly confirmed by the observation that many old pictures
seemed to derive their chief value for lovers of art from the fact that
they had become darker and browner, and that the harmony of tone in such
pictures was often vaunted. My father, on the other hand, protested that
he had no fear that the new pictures would not also turn black in time;
though whether they were likely to gain any thing by this he was not so
positive.

In pursuance of these principles, he employed for many years the whole
of the Frankfort artists,--the painter Hirt, who excelled in animating
oak and beech woods, and other so-called rural scenes, with cattle;
Trautmann, who had adopted Rembrandt as his model, and had attained
great perfection in enclosed lights and reflections, as well as in
effective conflagrations, so that he was once ordered to paint a
companion piece to a Rembrandt; Schutz, who diligently elaborated
landscapes of the Rhine country, in the manner of Sachtlebens; and
Junker, who executed with great purity flower and fruit pieces, still
life, and figures quietly employed, after the models of the Dutch. But
now, by the new arrangement, by more convenient room, and still more by
the acquaintance of a skilful artist, our love of art was again
quickened and animated. This artist was Seekatz, a pupil of Brinkmann,
court-painter at Darmstadt, whose talent and character will be more
minutely unfolded in the sequel.

In this way the remaining rooms were finished, according to their
several purposes. Cleanliness and order prevailed throughout. Above all,
the large panes of plate-glass contributed towards a perfect lightness,
which had been wanting in the old house for many causes, but chiefly on
account of the panes, which were for the most part round. My father was
cheerful on account of the success of his undertaking; and if his good
humor had not been often interrupted because the diligence and exactness
of the mechanics did not come up to his wishes, a happier life than ours
could not have been conceived, since much good partly arose in the
family itself, and partly flowed from without.

But an extraordinary event deeply disturbed the boy's peace of mind for
the first time. On the 1st of November, 1755, the earthquake at Lisbon
took place, and spread a prodigious alarm over the world, long
accustomed to peace and quiet. A great and magnificent capital, which
was at the same time a trading and mercantile city, is smitten without
warning by a most fearful calamity. The earth trembles and totters; the
sea foams; ships dash together; houses fall in, and over them churches
and towers; the royal palace is in part swallowed by the waters; the
bursting land seems to vomit flames, since smoke and fire are seen
everywhere amid the ruins. Sixty thousand persons, a moment before in
ease and comfort, fall together; and he is to be deemed most fortunate
who is no longer capable of a thought or feeling about the disaster. The
flames rage on; and with them rage a troop of desperadoes, before
concealed, or set at large by the event. The wretched survivors are
exposed to pillage, massacre, and every outrage; and thus on all sides
Nature asserts her boundless capriciousness.

Intimations of this event had spread over wide regions more quickly than
the authentic reports: slight shocks had been felt in many places; in
many springs, particularly those of a mineral nature, an unusual
receding of the waters had been remarked; and so much the greater was
the effect of the accounts themselves, which were rapidly circulated, at
first in general terms, but finally with dreadful particulars. Hereupon
the religious were neither wanting in reflections, nor the philosophic
in grounds for consolation, nor the clergy in warnings. So complicated
an event arrested the attention of the world for a long time; and, as
additional and more detailed accounts of the extensive effects of this
explosion came from every quarter, the minds already aroused by the
misfortunes of strangers began to be more and more anxious about
themselves and their friends. Perhaps the demon of terror had never so
speedily and powerfully diffused his terrors over the earth.

The boy, who was compelled to put up with frequent repetitions of the
whole matter, was not a little staggered. God, the Creator and Preserver
of heaven and earth, whom the explanation of the first article of the
creed declared so wise and benignant, having given both the just and the
unjust a prey to the same destruction, had not manifested himself by any
means in a fatherly character. In vain the young mind strove to resist
these impressions. It was the more impossible, as the wise and
scripture-learned could not themselves agree as to the light in which
such a phenomenon should be regarded.

The next summer gave a closer opportunity of knowing directly that angry
God, of whom the Old Testament records so much. A sudden hail-storm,
accompanied by thunder and lightning, violently broke the new panes at
the back of our house, which looked towards the west, damaged the new
furniture, destroyed some valuable books and other things of worth, and
was the more terrible to the children, as the whole household, quite
beside themselves, dragged them into a dark passage, where, on their
knees, with frightful groans and cries, they thought to conciliate the
wrathful Deity. Meanwhile, my father, who was the only one self-
possessed, forced open and unhinged the window-frames, by which we saved
much glass, but made a broader inlet for the rain that followed the
hail; so that, after we were finally quieted, we found ourselves in the
rooms and on the stairs completely surrounded by floods and streams of
water.

These events, startling as they were on the whole, did not greatly
interrupt the course of instruction which my father himself had
undertaken to give us children. He had passed his youth in the Coburg
Gymnasium, which stood as one of the first among German educational
institutions. He had there laid a good foundation in languages, and
other matters reckoned part of a learned education, had subsequently
applied himself to jurisprudence at Leipzig, and had at last taken his
degree at Giessen. His dissertation, "Electa de aditione Hereditatis,"
which had been earnestly and carefully written, is still cited by
jurists with approval.

It is a pious wish of all fathers to see what they have themselves
failed to attain realized in their sons, as if in this way they could
live their lives over again, and at last make a proper use of their
early experience. Conscious of his acquirements, with the certainty of
faithful perseverance, and distrusting the teachers of the day, my
father undertook to instruct his own children, allowing them to take
particular lessons from particular masters only so far as seemed
absolutely necessary. A pedagogical /dilettantism/ was already
beginning to show itself everywhere. The pedantry and heaviness of the
masters appointed in the public schools had probably given rise to this
evil. Something better was sought for, but it was forgotten how
defective all instruction must be which is not given by persons who are
teachers by profession.

My father had prospered in his own career tolerably according to his
wishes: I was to follow the same course, only more easily, and much
farther. He prized my natural endowments the more, because he was
himself wanting in them; for he had acquired every thing only by means
of unspeakable diligence, pertinacity, and repetition. He often assured
me, early and late, both in jest and earnest, that with my talents he
would have deported himself very differently, and would not have turned
them to such small account.

By means of a ready apprehension, practice, and a good memory, I very
soon outgrew the instructions which my father and the other teachers
were able to give, without being thoroughly grounded in any thing.
Grammar displeased me, because I regarded it as a mere arbitrary law:
the rules seemed ridiculous, inasmuch as they were invalidated by so
many exceptions, which had all to be learned by themselves. And if the
first Latin work had not been in rhyme, I should have got on but badly
in that; but, as it was, I hummed and sang it to myself readily enough.
In the same way we had a geography in memory-verses, in which the most
wretched doggerel best served to fix the recollection of that which was
to be retained; e.g.,--

"Upper-Yssel has many a fen, Which makes it hateful to all men."

The forms and inflections of language I caught with ease; and I also
quickly unravelled what lay in the conception of a thing. In rhetoric,
composition, and such matters, no one excelled me; although I was often
put back for faults of grammar. Yet these were the attempts that gave my
father particular pleasure, and for which he rewarded me with many
presents of money, considerable for such a lad.

My father taught my sister Italian in the same room in which I had to
commit Cellarius to memory. As I was soon ready with my task, and was
yet obliged to sit quiet, I listened with my book before me, and very
readily caught the Italian, which struck me as an agreeable softening of
Latin.

Other precocities, with respect to memory and the power to combine, I
possessed in common with those children who thus acquire an early
reputation. For that reason, my father could scarcely wait for me to go
to college. He very soon declared that I must study jurisprudence in
Leipzig, for which he retained a strong predilection; and I was
afterwards to visit some other university and take my degree. As for
this second one he was indifferent as to which I might choose, except
that he had for some reason or other a disinclination to Göttingen, to
my disappointment, since it was precisely there that I had placed such
confidence and high hopes.

He told me further, that I was to go to Wetzlar and Ratisbon, as well as
to Vienna, and thence towards Italy; although he repeatedly mentioned
that Paris should first be seen, because after coming out of Italy
nothing else could be pleasing.

These tales of my future youthful travels, often as they were repeated,
I listened to eagerly, the more so as they always led to accounts of
Italy, and at last to a description of Naples. His otherwise serious and
dry manner seemed on these occasions to relax and quicken, and thus a
passionate wish awoke in us children to participate in the paradise he
described.

Private lessons, which now gradually multiplied, were shared with the
children of the neighbors. This learning in common did not advance me:
the teachers followed their routine; and the rudeness, sometimes the ill
nature, of my companions, interrupted the brief hours of study with
tumult, vexation, and disturbance. Chrestomathies, by which learning is
made pleasant and varied, had not yet reached us. Cornelius Nepos, so
dry to young people; the New Testament, which was much too easy, and
which by preaching and religious instructions had been rendered even
common-place; Cellarius and Pasor,--could impart no kind of interest: on
the other hand, a certain rage for rhyme and versification, a
consequence of reading the prevalent German poets, took complete
possession of us. Me it had seized much earlier, as I had found it
agreeable to pass from the rhetorical to the poetical treatment of
subjects.

We boys held a Sunday assembly where each of us was to produce original
verses. And here I was struck by something strange, which long caused me
uneasiness. My poems, whatever they might be, always seemed to me the
best. But I soon remarked that my competitors, who brought forth very
lame affairs, were in the same condition, and thought no less of
themselves. Nay, what appeared yet more suspicious, a good lad (though
in such matters altogether unskilful), whom I liked in other respects,
but who had his rhymes made by his tutor, not only regarded these as the
best, but was thoroughly persuaded they were his own, as he always
maintained in our confidential intercourse. Now, as this illusion and
error was obvious to me, the question one day forced itself upon me,
whether I myself might not be in the same state, whether those poems
were not really better than mine, and whether I might not justly appear
to those boys as mad as they to me? This disturbed me much and long, for
it was altogether impossible for me to find any external criterion of
the truth: I even ceased from producing, until at length I was quieted
by my own light temperament, and the feeling of my own powers, and
lastly by a trial of skill,--started on the spur of the moment by our
teachers and parents, who had noted our sport,--in which I came off
well, and won general praise.

No libraries for children had at that time been established. The old had
themselves still childish notions, and found it convenient to impart
their own education to their successors. Except the "Orbis Pictus" of
Amos Comenius, no book of the sort fell into our hands; but the large
folio Bible, with copperplates by Merian, was diligently gone over leaf
by leaf; Gottfried's "Chronicles," with plates by the same master,
taught us the most notable events of universal history; the "Acerra
Philologica" added thereto all sorts of fables, mythologies, and
wonders; and, as I soon became familiar with Ovid's "Metamorphoses," the
first books of which in particular I studied carefully, my young brain
was rapidly furnished with a mass of images and events, of significant
and wonderful shapes and occurrences; and I never felt time hang upon my
hands, as I always occupied myself in working over, repeating, and
reproducing these acquisitions.

A more salutary moral effect than that of these rude and hazardous
antiquities was produced by Fenelon's "Telemachus," with which I first
became acquainted in Neukirch's translation, and which, imperfectly as
it was executed, had a sweet and beneficent influence on my mind. That
"Robinson Crusoe" was added in due time, follows in the nature of
things; and it may be imagined that the "Island of Falsenberg" was not
wanting. Lord Anson's "Voyage round the Globe" combined the dignity of
truth with the rich fancies of fable; and, while our thoughts
accompanied this excellent seaman, we were conducted over all the world,
and endeavored to follow him with our fingers on the globe. But a still
richer harvest was to spring up before me, when I lighted on a mass of
writings, which, in their present state, it is true, cannot be called
excellent, but the contents of which, in a harmless way, bring near to
us many a meritorious action of former times.

The publication, or rather the manufacture, of those books, which have
at a later day become so well known and celebrated under the name
Volkschriften, Volksbucher (popular works or books), was carried on in
Frankfort. The enormous sales they met with led to their being almost
illegibly printed from stereotypes on horrible blotting-paper. We
children were so fortunate as to find these precious remains of the
Middle Ages every day on a little table at the door of a dealer in cheap
books, and to obtain them at the cost of a couple of Kreutzer. "The
Eulenspiegel," "The Four Sons of Haimon," "The Emperor Octavian," "The
Fair Melusina," "The Beautiful Magelone," "Fortunatus," with the whole
race down to "The Wandering Jew," were all at our service, as often as
we preferred the relish of these works to the taste of sweet things. The
greatest benefit of this was, that, when we had read through or damaged
such a sheet, it could soon be reprocured, and swallowed a second time.

As a family picnic in summer is vexatiously disturbed by a sudden storm,
which transforms a pleasant state of things into the very reverse: so
the diseases of childhood fall unexpectedly on the most beautiful season
of early life. And thus it happened with me. I had just purchased
"Fortunatus with his Purse and Wishing-hat," when I was attacked by a
restlessness and fever which announced the small-pox. Inoculation was
still with us considered very problematical; and, although it had
already been intelligibly and urgently recommended by popular writers,
the German physicians hesitated to perform an operation that seemed to
forestall Nature. Speculative Englishmen, therefore, had come to the
Continent, and inoculated, for a considerable fee, the children of such
persons as were opulent, and free from prejudices. Still, the majority
were exposed to the old disease: the infection raged through families,
killed and disfigured many children; and few parents dared to avail
themselves of a method, the probable efficacy of which had been
abundantly confirmed by the result. The evil now invaded our house, and
attacked me with unusual severity. My whole body was sown over with
spots, and my face covered; and for several days I lay blind and in
great pain. They tried the only possible alleviation, and promised me
heaps of gold if I would keep quiet, and not increase the mischief by
rubbing and scratching. I controlled myself, while, according to the
prevailing prejudice, they kept me as warm as possible, and thus only
rendered my suffering more acute. At last, after a woeful time, there
fell, as it were, a mask from my face. The blotches had left no visible
mark upon the skin, but the features were plainly altered. I myself was
satisfied merely with seeing the light of day again, and gradually
putting off my spotted skin; but others were pitiless enough to remind
me often of my previous condition, especially a very lively aunt, who
had formerly regarded me with idolatry, but in after-years could seldom
look at me without exclaiming "The deuce, cousin, what a fright he's
grown!" Then she would tell me circumstantially how I had once been her
delight, and what attention she had excited when she carried me about;
and thus I early learned that people very often subject us to a severe
atonement for the pleasure which we have afforded them.

I escaped neither measles nor chicken-pox, nor any other of the
tormenting demons of childhood; and I was assured each time that it was
a great piece of good luck that this malady was now past forever. But
alas! another again threatened in the background, and advanced. All
these things increased my propensity to reflection; and as I had already
practised myself in fortitude, in order to remove the torture of
impatience, the virtues which I had heard praised in the stoics appeared
to me highly worthy of imitation, and the more so, as something similar
was commended by the Christian doctrine of patience.

While on the subject of these family diseases, I will mention a brother
about three years younger than myself, who was likewise attacked by that
infection, and suffered not a little from it. He was of a tender nature,
quiet and capricious; and we were never on the most friendly terms.
Besides, he scarcely survived the years of childhood. Among several
other children born afterwards, who, like him, did not live long, I only
remember a very pretty and agreeable girl, who also soon passed away; so
that, after the lapse of some years, my sister and I remained alone, and
were therefore the more deeply and affectionately attached to each
other.

These maladies, and other unpleasant interruptions, were in their
consequences doubly grievous; for my father, who seemed to have laid
down for himself a certain calendar of education and instruction, was
resolved immediately to repair every delay, and imposed double lessons
upon the young convalescent. These were not hard for me to accomplish,
but were so far troublesome, that they hindered, and, to a certain
extent, repressed, my inward development, which had taken a decided
direction.

From these didactic and pedagogic oppressions, we commonly fled to my
grandfather and grandmother. Their house stood in the Friedberg Street,
and appeared to have been formerly a fortress; for, on approaching it,
nothing was seen but a large gate with battlements, which were joined on
either side to the two neighboring houses. On entering through a narrow
passage, we reached at last a tolerably wide court, surrounded by
irregular buildings, which were now all united into one dwelling. We
usually hastened at once into the garden, which extended to a
considerable length and breadth behind the buildings, and was very well
kept. The walks were mostly skirted by vine-trellises: one part of the
space was used for vegetables, and another devoted to flowers, which
from spring till autumn adorned in rich succession the borders as well
as the beds. The long wall, erected towards the south, was used for some
well-trained espalier peach-trees, the forbidden fruit of which ripened
temptingly before us through the summer. Yet we rather avoided this
side, because we here could not satisfy our dainty appetites; and we
turned to the side opposite, where an interminable row of currant and
gooseberry bushes furnished our voracity with a succession of harvests
till autumn. Not less important to us was an old, high, wide-spreading
mulberry-tree, both on account of its fruits, and because we were told
that the silk-worms fed upon its leaves. In this peaceful region my
grandfather was found every evening, tending with genial care, and with
his own hand, the finer growths of fruits and flowers; while a gardener
managed the drudgery. He was never vexed by the various toils which were
necessary to preserve and increase a fine show of pinks. The branches of
the peach-trees were carefully tied to the espaliers with his own hands,
in a fan-shape, in order to bring about a full and easy growth of the
fruit. The sorting of the bulbs of tulips, hyacinths, and plants of a
similar nature, as well as the care of their preservation, he intrusted
to none; and I still with pleasure recall to my mind how diligently he
occupied himself in inoculating the different varieties of roses. That
he might protect himself from the thorns, he put on a pair of those
ancient leather gloves, of which three pair were given him annually at
the Piper's Court; so that there was no dearth of the article. He wore
also a loose dressing-gown, and a folded black velvet cap upon his head;
so that he might have passed for an intermediate person between Alcinous
and Laertes.

All this work in the garden he pursued as regularly and with as much
precision as his official business; for, before he came down, he always
arranged the list of cases for the next day, and read the legal papers.
In the morning he proceeded to the city-hall, dined after his return,
then took a nap in his easy-chair, and so went through the same routine
every day. He conversed little, never exhibited any vehemence; and I do
not remember ever to have seen him angry. All that surrounded him was in
the fashion of the olden time. I never perceived any alteration in his
wainscoted room. His library contained, besides law-works, only the
earliest books of travels, sea-voyages, and discoveries of countries.
Altogether I can call to mind no situation more adapted than his to
awaken the feeling of uninterrupted peace and eternal duration.

But the reverence we entertained for this venerable old man was raised
to the highest degree by a conviction that he possessed the gift of
prophecy, especially in matters that pertained to himself and his
destiny. It is true he revealed himself to no one distinctly and
minutely, except to my grandmother; yet we were all aware that he was
informed of what was going to happen by significant dreams. He assured
his wife, for instance, at a time when he was still a junior councillor,
that, on the first vacancy, he would obtain the place left open on the
bench of the /Schöffen/; and soon afterwards, when one of those
officers actually died of apoplexy, my grandfather gave orders that his
house should be quietly got ready prepared on the day of electing and
balloting, to receive his guests and congratulators. Sure enough, the
decisive gold ball was drawn in his favor. The simple dream by which he
had learned this, he confided to his wife as follows: He had seen
himself in the ordinary full assembly of councilmen, where all went on
just as usual. Suddenly the late /Schöff/ rose from his seat,
descended the steps, pressed him in the most complimentary manner to
take the vacant place, and then departed by the door.

Something similar occurred on the death of the /Schultheiss/. They
make no delay in supplying this place; as they always have to fear that
the emperor will, at some time, resume his ancient right of nominating
the officer. On this occasion, the messenger of the court came at
midnight to summon an extraordinary session for the next morning; and,
as the light in his lantern was about to expire, he asked for a candle's
end to help him on his way. "Give him a whole one," said my grandfather
to the ladies: "he takes the trouble all on my account." This expression
anticipated the result,--he was made /Schultheiss/. And what
rendered the circumstance particularly remarkable was, that, although
his representative was the third and last to draw at the ballot, the two
silver balls first came out, leaving the golden ball at the bottom of
the bag for him.

Perfectly prosaic, simple, and without a trace of the fantastic or
miraculous, were the other dreams, of which we were informed. Moreover,
I remember that once, as a boy, I was turning over his books and
memoranda, and found, among some other remarks which related to
gardening, such sentences as these: "To-night N. N. came to me, and
said,"--the name and revelation being written in cipher; or, "This night
I saw,"--all the rest being again in cipher, except the conjunctions and
similar words, from which nothing could be learned.

It is worthy of note also, that persons who showed no signs of prophetic
insight at other times, acquired, for the moment, while in his presence,
and that by means of some sensible evidence, presentiments of diseases
or deaths which were then occurring in distant places. But no such gift
has been transmitted to any of his children or grandchildren, who, for
the most part, have been hearty people, enjoying life, and never going
beyond the actual.

While on this subject, I remember with gratitude many kindnesses I
received from them in my youth. Thus, for example, we were employed and
entertained in many ways when we visited the second daughter, married to
the druggist Melber, whose house and shop stood near the market, in the
midst of the liveliest and most crowded part of the town. There we could
look down from the windows pleasantly enough upon the hurly-burly, in
which we feared to lose ourselves; and though at first, of all the goods
in the shop, nothing had much interest for us but the licorice, and the
little brown stamped cakes made from it, we became in time better
acquainted with the multitude of articles bought and sold in that
business. This aunt was the most vivacious of all the family. Whilst my
mother, in her early years, took pleasure in being neatly dressed,
working at some domestic occupation, or reading a book, the other, on
the contrary, ran about the neighborhood to pick up neglected children,
take care of them, comb them, and carry them about in the way she had
done with me for a good while. At a time of public festivities, such as
coronations, it was impossible to keep her at home. When a little child,
she had already scrambled for the money scattered on such occasions; and
it was related of her, that once when she had got a good many together,
and was looking at them with great delight in the palm of her hand, it
was struck by somebody, and all her well-earned booty vanished at a
blow. There was another incident of which she was very proud. Once,
while standing on a post as the Emperor Charles VII. was passing, at a
moment when all the people were silent, she shouted a vigorous "Vivat!"
into the coach, which made him take off his hat to her, and thank her
quite graciously for her bold salutation.

Every thing in her house was stirring, lively, and cheerful; and we
children owed her many a gay hour.

In a more quiet situation, which was, however, suited to her character,
was a second aunt, married to the Pastor Stark, incumbent of St.
Catharine's Church. He lived much alone, in accordance with his
temperament and vocation, and possessed a fine library. Here I first
became acquainted with Homer, in a prose translation, which may be found
in the seventh part of Herr Von Loen's new collection of the most
remarkable travels, under the title, "Homer's Description of the
Conquest of the Kingdom of Troy," ornamented with copperplates in the
theatrical French taste. These pictures perverted my imagination to such
a degree, that, for a long time, I could conceive the Homeric heroes
only under such forms. The incidents themselves gave me unspeakable
delight; though I found great fault with the work for affording us no
account of the capture of Troy, and breaking off so abruptly with the
death of Hector. My uncle, to whom I mentioned this defect, referred me
to Virgil, who perfectly satisfied my demands.

It will be taken for granted, that we children had among our other
lessons a continued and progressive instruction in religion. But the
Church-Protestantism imparted to us was, properly speaking, nothing but
a kind of dry morality: ingenious exposition was not thought of, and the
doctrine appealed neither to the understanding nor to the heart. For
that reason, there were various secessions from the Established Church.
Separatists, Pietists, Herrnhuter (Moravians), Quiet-in-the-Land, and
others differently named and characterized, sprang up, all of whom are
animated by the same purpose of approaching the Deity, especially
through Christ, more closely than seemed to them possible under the
forms of the established religion.

The boy heard these opinions and sentiments constantly spoken of, for
the clergy as well as the laity divided themselves into /pro/ and
/con/. The minority were composed of those who dissented more or
less broadly; but their modes of thinking attracted by originality,
heartiness, perseverance, and independence. All sorts of stories were
told of their virtues, and of the way in which they were manifested. The
reply of a pious master-tinman was especially noted, who, when one of
his craft attempted to shame him by asking, "Who is really your
confessor?" answered with great cheerfulness, and confidence in the
goodness of his cause, "I have a famous one,--no less than the confessor
of King David."

Things of this sort naturally made an impression on the boy, and led him
into similar states of mind. In fact, he came to the thought that he
might immediately approach the great God of nature, the Creator and
Preserver of heaven and earth, whose earlier manifestations of wrath had
been long forgotten in the beauty of the world, and the manifold
blessings in which we participate while upon it. The way he took to
accomplish this was very curious.

The boy had chiefly kept to the first article of belief. The God who
stands in immediate connection with nature, and owns and loves it as his
work, seemed to him the proper God, who might be brought into closer
relationship with man, as with every thing else, and who would take care
of him, as of the motion of the stars, the days and seasons, the animals
and plants. There were texts of the Gospels which explicitly stated
this. The boy could ascribe no form to this Being: he therefore sought
him in his works, and would, in the good Old-Testament fashion, build
him an altar. Natural productions were set forth as images of the world,
over which a flame was to burn, signifying the aspirations of man's
heart towards his Maker. He brought out of the collection of natural
objects which he possessed, and which had been increased as chance
directed, the best ores and other specimens. But the next difficulty
was, as to how they should be arranged and raised into a pile. His
father possessed a beautiful red-lacquered music-stand, ornamented with
gilt flowers, in the form of a four-sided pyramid, with different
elevations, which had been found convenient for quartets, but lately was
not much in use. The boy laid hands on this, and built up his
representatives of nature one above the other in steps; so that it all
looked quite pretty and at the same time sufficiently significant. On an
early sunrise his first worship of God was to be celebrated, but the
young priest had not yet settled how to produce a flame which should at
the same time emit an agreeable odor. At last it occurred to him to
combine the two, as he possessed a few fumigating pastils, which
diffused a pleasant fragrance with a glimmer, if not with a flame. Nay,
this soft burning and exhalation seemed a better representation of what
passes in the heart, than an open flame. The sun had already risen for a
long time, but the neighboring houses concealed the east. At last it
glittered above the roofs: a burning-glass was at once taken up and
applied to the pastils, which were fixed on the summit in a fine
porcelain saucer. Every thing succeeded according to the wish, and the
devotion was perfect. The altar remained as a peculiar ornament of the
room which had been assigned him in the new house. Every one regarded it
only as a well-arranged collection of natural curiosities. The boy knew
better, but concealed his knowledge. He longed for a repetition of the
solemnity. But unfortunately, just as the most opportune sun arose, the
porcelain cup was not at hand: he placed the pastils immediately on the
upper surface of the stand; they were kindled; and so great was the
devotion of the priest, that he did not observe, until it was too late,
the mischief his sacrifice was doing. The pastils had burned mercilessly
into the red lacquer and beautiful gold flowers, and, as if some evil
spirit had disappeared, had left their black, ineffaceable footprints.
By this the young priest was thrown into the most extreme perplexity.
The mischief could be covered up, it was true, with the larger pieces of
his show materials; but the spirit for new offerings was gone, and the
accident might almost be considered a hint and warning of the danger
there always is in wishing to approach the Deity in such a way.

 SECOND BOOK.

All that has been hitherto recorded indicates that happy and easy
condition in which nations exist during a long peace. But nowhere
probably is such a beautiful time enjoyed in greater comfort than in
cities living under their own laws, and large enough to include a
considerable number of citizens, and so situated as to enrich them by
trade and commerce. Strangers find it to their advantage to come and go,
and are under a necessity of bringing profit in order to acquire profit.
Even if such cities rule but a small territory, they are the better
qualified to advance their internal prosperity; as their external
relations expose them to no costly undertakings or alliances.

Thus the Frankforters passed a series of prosperous years during my
childhood; but scarcely, on the 28th of August, 1756, had I completed my
seventh year, than that world-renowned war broke out which was also to
exert great influence upon the next seven years of my life. Frederick
the Second, King of Prussia, had fallen upon Saxony with sixty thousand
men; and, instead of announcing his invasion by a declaration of war, he
followed it up with a manifesto, composed by himself as it was said,
which explained the causes that had moved and justified him in so
monstrous a step. The world, which saw itself appealed to, not merely as
spectator, but as judge, immediately split into two parties; and our
family was an image of the great whole.

My grandfather, who, as /Schöff/ of Frankfort, had carried the
coronation canopy over Francis the First, and had received from the
empress a heavy gold chain with her likeness, took the Austrian side
along with some of his sons-in-law and daughters. My father having been
nominated to the imperial council by Charles the Seventh, and
sympathizing sincerely in the fate of that unhappy monarch, leaned
towards Prussia, with the other and smaller half of the family. Our
meetings, which had been held on Sundays for many years uninterruptedly,
were very soon disturbed. The misunderstandings so common among persons
related by marriage, found only now a form in which they could be
expressed. Contention, discord, silence, and separation ensued. My
grandfather, generally a cheerful, quiet man, and fond of ease, became
impatient. The women vainly endeavored to smother the flames; and, after
some unpleasant scenes, my father was the first to quit the society. At
home we now rejoiced undisturbed at the Prussian victories, which were
commonly announced with great glee by our vivacious aunt. Every other
interest had to give way to this, and we passed the rest of the year in
perpetual agitation. The occupation of Dresden, the moderation of the
king at the outset, his slow but secure advances, the victory at
Lowositz, the capture of the Saxons, were so many triumphs for our
party. Every thing that could be alleged for the advantage of our
opponents was denied or depreciated; and, as the members of the family
on the other side did the same, they could not meet in the streets
without disputes arising, as in "Romeo and Juliet."

Thus I also was then a Prussian in my views, or, to speak more
correctly, a Fritzian; since what cared we for Prussia? It was the
personal character of the great king that worked upon all hearts. I
rejoiced with my father in our conquests, readily copied the songs of
triumph, and almost more willingly the lampoons directed against the
other party, poor as the rhymes might be.

Being their eldest grandson and godchild, I had dined every Sunday since
my infancy with my grandfather and grandmother; and the hours so spent
had been the most delightful of the whole week. But now I relished not a
morsel, because I was compelled to hear the most horrible slanders of my
hero. Here blew another wind, here sounded another tone, than at home.
My liking and even my respect for my grandfather and grandmother fell
off. I could mention nothing of this to my parents, but avoided the
matter, both on account of my own feelings, and because I had been
warned by my mother. In this way I was thrown back upon myself; and as
in my sixth year, after the earthquake at Lisbon, the goodness of God
had become to me in some measure suspicious: so I began now, on account
of Frederick the Second, to doubt the justice of the public. My heart
was naturally inclined to reverence, and it required a great shock to
stagger my faith in any thing that was venerable. But alas! they had
commended good manners and a becoming deportment to us, not for their
own sake, but for the sake of the people. What will people say? was
always the cry; and I thought that the people must be right good people,
and would know how to judge of any thing and every thing. But my
experience went just to the contrary. The greatest and most signal
services were defamed and attacked; the noblest deeds, if not denied,
were at least misrepresented and diminished; and this base injustice was
done to the only man who was manifestly elevated above all his
contemporaries, and who daily proved what he was able to do,--and that,
not by the populace, but by distinguished men, as I took my grandfather
and uncles to be. That parties existed, and that he himself belonged to
a party, had never entered into the conceptions of the boy. He,
therefore, believed himself all the more right, and dared hold his own
opinion for the better one; since he and those of like mind appreciated
the beauty and other good qualities of Maria Theresa, and even did not
grudge the Emperor Francis his love of jewellery and money. That Count
Daun was often called an old dozer, they thought justifiable.

But, now that I look more closely into the matter, I here trace the germ
of that disregard and even disdain of the public, which clung to me for
a whole period of my life, and only in later days was brought within
bounds by insight and cultivation. Suffice it to say, that the
perception of the injustice of parties had even then a very unpleasant,
nay, an injurious, effect upon the boy; as it accustomed him to separate
himself from beloved and highly valued persons. The quick succession of
battles and events left the parties neither quiet nor rest. We ever
found a malicious delight in reviving and resharpening those imaginary
evils and capricious disputes; and thus we continued to tease each
other, until the occupation of Frankfort by the French some years
afterwards brought real inconvenience into our homes.

Although to most of us the important events occurring in distant parts
served only for topics of hot controversy, there were others who
perceived the seriousness of the times, and feared that the sympathy of
France might open a scene of war in our own vicinity. They kept us
children at home more than before, and strove in many ways to occupy and
amuse us. With this view, the puppet-show bequeathed by our grandmother
was again brought forth, and arranged in such a way that the spectators
sat in my gable-room; while the persons managing and performing, as well
as the theatre itself as far as the proscenium, found a place in the
room adjoining. We were allowed, as a special favor, to invite first one
and then another of the neighbor's children as spectators; and thus at
the outset I gained many friends, but the restlessness inherent in
children did not suffer them to remain long a patient audience. They
interrupted the play; and we were compelled to seek a younger public,
which could at any rate be kept in order by the nurses and maids. The
original drama, to which the puppets had been specially adapted, we had
learned by heart; and in the beginning this was exclusively performed.
Soon growing weary of it, however, we changed the dresses and
decorations, and attempted various other pieces, which were indeed on
too grand a scale for so narrow a stage. Although this presumption
spoiled and finally quite destroyed what we performed, such childish
pleasures and employments nevertheless exercised and advanced in many
ways my power of invention and representation, my fancy, and a certain
technical skill, to a degree which in any other way could not perhaps
have been secured in so short a time, in so confined a space, and at so
little expense.

I had early learned to use compasses and ruler, because all the
instructions they gave me in geometry were forthwith put into practice;
and I occupied myself greatly with paste-board-work. I did not stop at
geometrical figures, little boxes, and such things, but invented pretty
pleasure-houses adorned with pilasters, steps, and flat roofs. However,
but little of this was completed.

Far more persevering was I, on the other hand, in arranging, with the
help of our domestic (a tailor by trade), an armory for the service of
our plays and tragedies, which we ourselves performed with delight when
we had outgrown the puppets. My playfellows, too, prepared for
themselves such armories, which they considered to be quite as fine and
good as mine; but I had made provision, not for the wants of one person
only, and could furnish several of the little band with every requisite,
and thus made myself more and more indispensable to our little circle.
That such games tended to factions, quarrels, and blows, and commonly
came to a sad end in tumult and vexation, may easily be supposed. In
such cases certain of my companions generally took part with me, while
others sided against me; though many changes of party occurred. One
single boy, whom I will call Pylades, urged by the others, once only
left my party, but could scarcely for a moment maintain his hostile
position. We were reconciled amid many tears, and for a long time
afterwards kept faithfully together.

To him, as well as other well-wishers, I could render myself very
agreeable by telling tales, which they most delighted to hear when I was
the hero of my own story. It greatly rejoiced them to know that such
wonderful things could befall one of their own playfellows; nor was it
any harm that they did not understand how I could find time and space
for such adventures, as they must have been pretty well aware of all my
comings and goings, and how I was occupied the entire day. Not the less
necessary was it for me to select the localities of these occurrences,
if not in another world, at least in another spot; and yet all was told
as having taken place only to-day or yesterday. They therefore had to
form for themselves greater illusions than I could have palmed off upon
them. If I had not gradually learned, in accordance with the instincts
of my nature, to work up these visions and conceits into artistic forms,
such vain-glorious beginnings could not have gone on without producing
evil consequences for myself in the end.

Considering this impulse more closely, we may see in it that presumption
with which the poet authoritatively utters the greatest improbabilities,
and requires every one to recognize as real whatever may in any way seem
to him, the inventor, as true.

But what is here told only in general terms, and by way of reflection,
will perhaps become more apparent and interesting by means of an
example. I subjoin, therefore, one of these tales, which, as I often had
to repeat it to my comrades, still hovers entire in my imagination and
memory.



 THE NEW PARIS.

A BOY'S LEGEND.

On the night before Whitsunday, not long since, I dreamed that I stood
before a mirror engaged with the new summer clothes which my dear
parents had given me for the holiday. The dress consisted, as you know,
of shoes of polished leather, with large silver buckles, fine cotton
stockings, black nether garments of serge, and a coat of green baracan
with gold buttons. The waistcoat of gold cloth was cut out of my
father's bridal waistcoat. My hair had been frizzled and powdered, and
my curls stuck out from my head like little wings; but I could not
finish dressing myself, because I kept confusing the different articles,
the first always falling off as soon as I was about to put on the next.
In this dilemma, a young and handsome man came to me, and greeted me in
the friendliest manner. "Oh! you are welcome," said I: "I am very glad
to see you here."--"Do you know me, then?" replied he, smiling. "Why
not?" was my no less smiling answer. "You are Mercury--I have often
enough seen you represented in pictures."--"I am, indeed," replied he,
"and am sent to you by the gods on an important errand. Do you see these
three apples?" He stretched forth his hand and showed me three apples,
which it could hardly hold, and which were as wonderfully beautiful as
they were large, the one of a red, the other of a yellow, the third of a
green, color. One could not help thinking they were precious stones made
into the form of fruit. I would have snatched them; but he drew back,
and said, "You must know, in the first place, that they are not for you.
You must give them to the three handsomest youths of the city, who then,
each according to his lot, will find wives to the utmost of their
wishes. Take them, and success to you!" said he, as he departed, leaving
the apples in my open hands. They appeared to me to have become still
larger. I held them up at once against the light, and found them quite
transparent; but soon they expanded upward, and became three beautiful
little ladies about as large as middle-sized dolls, whose clothes were
of the colors of the apples. They glided gently up my fingers: and when
I was about to catch them, to make sure of one at least, they had
already soared high and far; and I had to put up with the
disappointment. I stood there all amazed and petrified, holding up my
hands, and staring at my fingers as if there were still something on
them to see. Suddenly I saw a most lovely girl dance upon the very tips.
She was smaller, but pretty and lively; and as she did not fly away like
the others, but remained dancing, now on one finger-point, now on
another, I regarded her for a long while with admiration. And, as she
pleased me so much, I thought in the end I could catch her, and made, as
I fancied, a very adroit grasp. But at the moment I felt such a blow on
my head that I fell down stunned, and did not awake from my stupor till
it was time to dress myself and go to church.

During the service I often called those images to mind, and also when I
was eating dinner at my grandfather's table. In the afternoon I wished
to visit some friends, partly to show myself in my new dress, with my
hat under my arm and my sword by my side, and partly to return their
visits. I found no one at home; and, as I heard that they were gone to
the gardens, I resolved to follow them, and pass the evening pleasantly.
My way led towards the intrenchments; and I came to the spot which is
rightly called the Bad Wall, for it is never quite safe from ghosts
there. I walked slowly, and thought of my three goddesses, but
especially of the little nymph, and often held up my fingers in hopes
she might be kind enough to balance herself there again. With such
thoughts I was proceeding, when I saw in the wall on my left hand a
little gate which I did not remember to have ever noticed before. It
looked low, but its pointed arch would have allowed the tallest man to
enter. Arch and wall had been chiselled in the handsomest way, both by
mason and sculptor; but it was the door itself which first properly
attracted my attention. The old brown wood, though slightly ornamented,
was crossed with broad bands of brass wrought both in relief and
intaglio. The foliage on these, with the most natural birds sitting in
it, I could not sufficiently admire. But, what seemed most remarkable,
no keyhole could be seen, no latch, no knocker; and from this I
conjectured that the door could be opened only from within. I was not in
error; for, when I went nearer in order to touch the ornaments, it
opened inwards; and there appeared a man whose dress was somewhat long,
wide, and singular. A venerable beard enveloped his chin, so that I was
inclined to think him a Jew. But he, as if he had divined my thoughts,
made the sign of the holy cross, by which he gave me to understand that
he was a good Catholic Christian. "Young gentleman, how came you here,
and what are you doing?" he said to me, with a friendly voice and
manner." I am admiring," I replied," the workmanship of this door; for I
have never seen any thing like it, except in some small pieces in the
collections of amateurs."--"I am glad," he answered, "that you like such
works. The door is much more beautiful inside. Come in, if you like." My
heart, in some degree, failed me. The mysterious dress of the porter,
the seclusion, and a something, I know not what, that seemed to be in
the air, oppressed me. I paused, therefore, under the pretext of
examining the outside still longer; and at the same time I cast stolen
glances into the garden, for a garden it was which had opened before me.
Just inside the door I saw a space. Old linden-trees, standing at
regular distances from each other, entirely covered it with their
thickly interwoven branches; so that the most numerous parties, during
the hottest of the day, might have refreshed themselves in the shade.
Already I had stepped upon the threshold, and the old man contrived
gradually to allure me on. Properly speaking, I did not resist; for I
had always heard that a prince or sultan in such a case must never ask
whether there be danger at hand. I had my sword by my side too; and
could I not soon have finished with the old man, in case of hostile
demonstrations? I therefore entered perfectly re-assured: the keeper
closed the door, which bolted so softly that I scarcely heard it. He now
showed me the workmanship on the inside, which in truth was still more
artistic than the outside, explained it to me, and at the same time
manifested particular good will. Being thus entirely at my ease, I let
myself be guided in the shaded space by the wall, that formed a circle,
where I found much to admire. Niches tastefully adorned with shells,
corals, and pieces of ore, poured a profusion of water from the mouths
of tritons into marble basins. Between them were aviaries and other
lattice-work, in which squirrels frisked about, guinea-pigs ran hither
and thither, with as many other pretty little creatures as one could
wish to see. The birds called and sang to us as we advanced: the
starlings, particularly, chattered the silliest stuff. One always cried,
"Paris, Paris!" and the other, "Narcissus, Narcissus!" as plainly as a
schoolboy can say them. The old man seemed to continue looking at me
earnestly while the birds called out thus; but I feigned not to notice
it, and had in truth no time to attend to him, for I could easily
perceive that we went round and round, and that this shaded space was in
fact a great circle, which enclosed another much more important. Indeed,
we had actually reached the small door again, and it seemed as though
the old man would let me out. But my eyes remained directed towards a
golden railing, which seemed to hedge round the middle of this wonderful
garden, and which I had found means enough of observing in our walk;
although the old man managed to keep me always close to the wall, and
therefore pretty far from the centre. And now, just as he was going to
the door, I said to him, with a bow, "You have been so extremely kind to
me that I would fain venture to make one more request before I part from
you. Might I not look more closely at that golden railing, which appears
to enclose in a very wide circle the interior of the garden?"--"Very
willingly," replied he, "but in that case you must submit to some
conditions."--"In what do they consist?" I asked hastily. "You must
leave here your hat and sword, and must not let go my hand while I
accompany you."--"Most willingly," I replied; and laid my hat and sword
on the nearest stone bench. Immediately he grasped my left hand with his
right, held it fast, and led me with some force straight forwards. When
we reached the railing, my wonder changed into amazement. On a high
socle of marble stood innumerable spears and partisans, ranged beneath
each other, joined by their strangely ornamented points, and forming a
complete circle. I looked through the intervals, and saw just behind a
gently flowing piece of water, bounded on both sides by marble, and
displaying in its clear depths a multitude of gold and silver fish,
which moved about now slowly and now swiftly, now alone and now in
shoals. I would also fain have looked beyond the canal, to see what
there was in the heart of the garden. But I found, to my great sorrow,
that the other side of the water was bordered by a similar railing, and
with so much art, that to each interval on this side exactly fitted a
spear or partisan on the other. These, and the other ornaments, rendered
it impossible for one to see through, stand as he would. Besides, the
old man, who still held me fast, prevented me from moving freely. My
curiosity, meanwhile, after all I had seen, increased more and more; and
I took heart to ask the old man whether one could not pass over. "Why
not?" returned he, "but on new conditions." When I asked him what these
were, he gave me to understand that I must put on other clothes. I was
satisfied to do so: he led me back towards the wall into a small, neat
room, on the sides of which hung many kinds of garments, all of which
seemed to approach the Oriental costume. I soon changed my dress. He
confined my powdered hair under a many-colored net, after having to my
horror violently dusted it out. Now, standing before a great mirror, I
found myself quite handsome in my disguise, and pleased myself better
than in my formal Sunday clothes. I made gestures, and leaped, as I had
seen the dancers do at the fair-theatre. In the midst of this I looked
in the glass, and saw by chance the image of a niche which was behind
me. On its white ground hung three green cords, each of them twisted up
in a way which from the distance I could not clearly discern. I
therefore turned round rather hastily, and asked the old man about the
niche as well as the cords. He very courteously took a cord down, and
showed it to me. It was a band of green silk of moderate thickness, the
ends of which, joined by green leather with two holes in it, gave it the
appearance of an instrument for no very desirable purpose. The thing
struck me as suspicious, and I asked the old man the meaning. He
answered me very quietly and kindly, "This is for those who abuse the
confidence which is here readily shown them." He hung the cord again in
its place, and immediately desired me to follow him; for this time he
did not hold me, and so I walked freely beside him.

My chief curiosity now was, to discover where the gate and bridge, for
passing through the railing and over the canal, might be; since as yet I
had not been able to find any thing of the kind. I therefore watched the
golden fence very narrowly as we hastened towards it. But in a moment my
sight failed: lances, spears, halberds, and partisans began unexpectedly
to rattle and quiver; and the strange movement ended in all the points
sinking towards each other just as if two ancient hosts, armed with
pikes, were about to charge. The confusion to the eyes, the clatter to
the ears, was hardly to be borne; but infinitely surprising was the
sight, when, falling perfectly level, they covered the circle of the
canal, and formed the most glorious bridge that one can imagine. For now
a most variegated garden parterre met my sight. It was laid out in
curvilinear beds, which, looked at together, formed a labyrinth of
ornaments; all with green borders of a low, woolly plant, which I had
never seen before; all with flowers, each division of different colors,
which, being likewise low and close to the ground, allowed the plan to
be easily traced. This delicious sight, which I enjoyed in the full
sunshine, quite riveted my eyes. But I hardly knew where I was to set my
foot; for the serpentine paths were most delicately laid with blue sand,
which seemed to form upon the earth a darker sky, or a sky seen in the
water: and so I walked for a while beside my conductor, with my eyes
fixed upon the ground, until at last I perceived, that, in the middle of
this round of beds and flowers, there was a great circle of cypresses or
poplar-like trees, through which one could not see, because the lowest
branches seemed to spring out of the ground. My guide, without taking me
exactly the shortest way, led me nevertheless immediately towards that
centre; and how was I astonished, when, on entering the circle of high
trees, I saw before me the peristyle of a magnificent garden-house,
which seemed to have similar prospects and entrances on the other sides!
The heavenly music which streamed from the building transported me still
more than this model of architecture. I fancied that I heard now a lute,
now a harp, now a guitar, and now something tinkling which did not
belong to any of these instruments. The door for which we made opened
soon on being lightly touched by the old man. But how was I amazed when
the porteress who came out perfectly resembled the delicate girl who had
danced upon my fingers in the dream! She greeted me as if we were
already acquainted, and invited me to walk in. The old man staid behind;
and I went with her through a short passage, arched and finely
ornamented, to the middle hall, the splendid, dome-like ceiling of which
attracted my gaze on my entrance, and filled me with astonishment. Yet
my eye could not dwell on this long, being allured down by a more
charming spectacle. On a carpet, directly under the middle of the
cupola, sat three women in a triangle, clad in three different colors,--
one red, the other yellow, the third green. The seats were gilt, and the
carpet was a perfect flower-bed. In their arms lay the three instruments
which I had been able to distinguish from without; for, being disturbed
by my arrival, they had stopped their playing. "Welcome!" said the
middle one, who sat with her face to the door, in a red dress, and with
the harp. "Sit down by Alerte, and listen, if you are a lover of music."

Now only I remarked that there was a rather long bench placed obliquely
before them, on which lay a mandolin. The pretty girl took it up, sat
down, and drew me to her side. Now also I looked at the second lady on
my right. She wore the yellow dress, and had the guitar in her hand; and
if the harp-player was dignified in form, grand in features, and
majestic in her deportment, one might remark in the guitar-player an
easy grace and cheerfulness. She was a slender blonde, while the other
was adorned by dark-brown hair. The variety and accordance of their
music could not prevent me from remarking the third beauty, in the green
dress, whose lute-playing was for me at once touching and striking. She
was the one who seemed to notice me the most, and to direct her music to
me: only I could not make up my mind about her; for she appeared to me
now tender, now whimsical, now frank, now self-willed, according as she
changed her mien and mode of playing. Sometimes she seemed to wish to
excite my emotions, sometimes to tease me; but, do what she would, she
got little out of me; for my little neighbor, by whom I sat elbow to
elbow, had gained me entirely to herself: and while I clearly saw in
those three ladies the sylphides of my dream, and recognized the colors
of the apples, I conceived that I had no cause to detain them. I should
have liked better to lay hold of the pretty little maiden if I had not
but too well remembered the blow she had given me in my dream. Hitherto
she had remained quite quiet with her mandolin; but, when her mistresses
had ceased, they commanded her to perform some pleasant little piece.
Scarcely had she jingled off some dance-tune, in a most exciting manner,
than she sprang up: I did the same. She played and danced; I was hurried
on to accompany her steps; and we executed a kind of little ballet, with
which the ladies seemed satisfied; for, as soon as we had done, they
commanded the little girl to refresh me with something nice till supper
should come in. I had indeed forgotten that there was any thing in the
world beyond this paradise. Alerte led me back immediately into the
passage by which I had entered. On one side of it she had two well-
arranged rooms. In that in which she lived she set before me oranges,
figs, peaches, and grapes; and I enjoyed with great gusto both the
fruits of foreign lands and those of our own not yet in season.
Confectionery there was in profusion: she filled, too, a goblet of
polished crystal with foaming wine; but I had no need to drink, as I had
refreshed myself with the fruits. "Now we will play," said she, and led
me into the other room. Here all looked like a Christmas fair, but such
costly and exquisite things were never seen in a Christmas booth. There
were all kinds of dolls, dolls' clothes, and dolls' furniture; kitchens,
parlors, and shops, and single toys innumerable. She led me round to all
the glass cases in which these ingenious works were preserved.

But she soon closed again the first cases, and said, "That is nothing
for you, I know well enough. Here," she said, "we could find building-
materials, walls and towers, houses, palaces, churches, to put together
a great city. But this does not entertain me. We will take something
else, which will be amusing to both of us." Then she brought out some
boxes, in which I saw an army of little soldiers piled one upon the
other, of which I must needs confess that I had never seen any thing so
beautiful. She did not leave me time to examine them in detail, but took
one box under her arm, while I seized the other. "We will go," she said,
"to the golden bridge. There one plays best with soldiers: the lances
give at once the direction in which the armies are to be opposed to each
other." We had now reached the golden, trembling floor; and below me I
could hear the waters gurgle and the fishes splash, while I knelt down
to range my columns. All, as I now saw, were cavalry. She boasted that
she had the queen of the Amazons as leader of her female host. I, on the
contrary, found Achilles and a very stately Grecian cavalry. The armies
stood facing each other, and nothing could have been seen more
beautiful. They were not flat, leaden horsemen like ours; but man and
horse were round and solid, and most finely wrought: nor could one
conceive how they kept their balance; for they stood of themselves,
without a support for their feet.

Both of us had inspected our hosts with much self-complacency, when she
announced the onset. We had found ordnance in our chests; viz., little
boxes full of well-polished agate balls. With these we were to fight
against each other from a certain distance; while, however, it was an
express condition that we should not throw with more force than was
necessary to upset the figures, as none of them were to be injured. Now
the cannonade began on both sides, and at first it succeeded to the
satisfaction of us both. But when my adversary observed that I aimed
better than she, and might in the end win the victory, which depended on
the majority of pieces remaining upright, she came nearer, and her
girlish way of throwing had then the desired result. She prostrated a
multitude of my best troops, and the more I protested the more eagerly
did she throw. This at last vexed me, and I declared that I would do the
same. In fact, I not only went nearer, but in my rage threw with much
more violence; so that it was not long before a pair of her little
centauresses flew in pieces. In her eagerness she did not instantly
notice it, but I stood petrified when the broken figures joined together
again of themselves: Amazon and horse became again one, and also
perfectly close, set up a gallop from the golden bridge under the lime-
trees, and, running swiftly backwards and forwards, were lost in their
career, I know not how, in the direction of the wall. My fair opponent
had hardly perceived this, when she broke out into loud weeping and
lamentation, and exclaimed that I had caused her an irreparable loss,
which was far greater than could be expressed. But I, by this time
provoked, was glad to annoy her, and blindly flung a couple of the
remaining agate balls with force into the midst of her army. Unhappily I
hit the queen, who had hitherto, during our regular game, been excepted.
She flew in pieces, and her nearest officers were also shivered. But
they swiftly set themselves up again, and started off like the others,
galloping very merrily about under the lime-trees, and disappearing
against the wall. My opponent scolded and abused me; but, being now in
full play, I stooped to pick up some agate balls which rolled about upon
the golden lances. It was my fierce desire to destroy her whole army.
She, on the other hand, not idle, sprang at me, and gave me a box on the
ear, which made my head ring. Having always heard that a hearty kiss was
the proper response to a girl's box of the ear, I took her by the ears,
and kissed her repeatedly. But she uttered such a piercing scream as
frightened even me. I let her go; and it was fortunate that I did so,
for in a moment I knew not what was happening to me. The ground beneath
me began to shake and rattle. I soon remarked that the railings again
set themselves in motion; but I had no time to consider, nor could I get
a footing so as to fly. I feared every instant to be pierced; for the
partisans and lances, which had lifted themselves up, were already
slitting my clothes. It is sufficient to say, that, I know not how it
was, hearing and sight failed me; and I recovered from my swoon and
terror at the foot of a lime-tree, against which the pikes in springing
up had thrown me. As I awoke, my anger awakened also, and violently
increased when I heard from the other side the gibes and laughter of my
opponent, who had probably reached the earth somewhat more softly than
I. Therefore I jumped up; and as I saw the little host with its leader
Achilles scattered around me, having been driven over with me by the
rising of the rails, I seized the hero first, and threw him against a
tree. His resuscitation and flight now pleased me doubly, a malicious
pleasure combining with the prettiest sight in the world; and I was on
the point of sending all the other Greeks after him, when suddenly
hissing waters spurted at me on all sides, from stones and wall, from
ground and branches, and, wherever I turned, dashed against me
crossways.

In a short time my light garment was wet through. It was already rent,
and I did not hesitate to tear it entirely off my body. I cast away my
slippers, and one covering after another. Nay, at last I found it very
agreeable to let such a shower-bath play over me in the warm day. Now,
being quite naked, I walked gravely along between these welcome waters,
where I thought to enjoy myself for some time. My anger cooled, and I
wished for nothing more than a reconciliation with my little adversary.
But, in a twinkling, the water stopped; and I stood drenched upon the
saturated ground. The presence of the old man, who appeared before me
unexpectedly, was by no means welcome. I could have wished, if not to
hide, at least to clothe, myself. The shame, the shivering, the effort
to cover myself in some degree, made me cut a most piteous figure. The
old man employed the moment in venting the severest reproaches against
me. "What hinders me," he exclaimed, "from taking one of the green
cords, and fitting it, if not to your neck, to your back?" This threat I
took in very ill part. "Refrain," I cried, "from such words, even from
such thoughts; for otherwise you and your mistresses will be lost."--"
Who, then, are you," he asked in defiance, "who dare speak thus?"--"A
favorite of the gods," I said, "on whom it depends whether those ladies
shall find worthy husbands and pass a happy life, or be left to pine and
wither in their magic cell." The old man stepped some paces back. "Who
has revealed that to you?" he inquired, with astonishment and concern.
"Three apples," I said, "three jewels."--"And what reward do you
require?" he exclaimed. "Before all things, the little creature," I
replied, "who has brought me into this accursed state." The old man cast
himself down before me, without shrinking from the wet and miry soil:
then he rose without being wetted, took me kindly by the hand, led me
into the hall, clad me again quickly; and I was soon once more decked
out and frizzled in my Sunday fashion as before. The porter did not
speak another word; but, before he let me pass the entrance, he stopped
me, and showed me some objects on the wall over the way, while, at the
same time, he pointed backwards to the door. I understood him: he wished
to imprint the objects on my mind, that I might the more certainly find
the door, which had unexpectedly closed behind me. I now took good
notice of what was opposite me. Above a high wall rose the boughs of
extremely old nut-trees, and partly covered the cornice at the top. The
branches reached down to a stone tablet, the ornamented border of which
I could perfectly recognize, though I could not read the inscription. It
rested on the top-stone of a niche, in which a finely wrought fountain
poured water from cup to cup into a great basin, that formed, as it
were, a little pond, and disappeared in the earth. Fountain,
inscription, nut-trees, all stood perpendicularly, one above another: I
would paint it as I saw it.

Now, it may well be conceived how I passed this evening, and many
following days, and how often I repeated to myself this story, which
even I could hardly believe. As soon as it was in any degree possible, I
went again to the Bad Wall, at least to refresh my remembrance of these
signs, and to look at the precious door. But, to my great amazement, I
found all changed. Nut-trees, indeed, overtopped the wall; but they did
not stand immediately in contact. A tablet also was inserted in the
wall, but far to the right of the trees, without ornament, and with a
legible inscription. A niche with a fountain was found far to the left,
but with no resemblance whatever to that which I had seen; so that I
almost believed that the second adventure was, like the first, a dream,
for of the door there is not the slightest trace. The only thing that
consoles me is the observation, that these three objects seem always to
change their places. For, in repeated visits to the spot, I think I have
noticed that the nut-trees have moved somewhat nearer together, and that
the tablet and the fountain seem likewise to approach each other.
Probably, when all is brought together again, the door, too, will once
more be visible; and I will do my best to take up the thread of the
adventure. Whether I shall be able to tell you what further happens, or
whether I shall be expressly forbidden to do so, I cannot say.

 This tale, of the truth of which my playfellows vehemently strove to
convince themselves, received great applause. Each of them visited alone
the place described, without confiding it to me or the others, and
discovered the nut-trees, the tablet, and the spring, though always at a
distance from each other; as they at last confessed to me afterwards,
because it is not easy to conceal a secret at that early age. But here
the contest first arose. One asserted that the objects did not stir from
the spot, and always maintained the same distance; a second averred that
they did move, and that, too, away from each other; a third agreed with
the latter as to the first point of their moving, though it seemed to
him that the nut-trees, tablet, and fountain rather drew near together;
while a fourth had something still more wonderful to announce, which
was, that the nut-trees were in the middle, but that the tablet and the
fountain were on sides opposite to those which I had stated. With
respect to the traces of the little door, they also varied. And thus
they furnished me an early instance of the contradictory views men can
hold and maintain in regard to matters quite simple and easily cleared
up. As I obstinately refused the continuation of my tale, a repetition
of the first part was often desired. I took good care not to change the
circumstances much; and, by the uniformity of the narrative, I converted
the fable into truth in the minds of my hearers.

Yet I was averse to falsehood and dissimulation, and altogether by no
means frivolous. Rather, on the contrary, the inward earnestness, with
which I had early begun to consider myself and the world, was seen, even
in my exterior; and I was frequently called to account, often in a
friendly way, and often in raillery, for a certain dignity which I had
assumed. For, although good and chosen friends were certainly not
wanting to me, we were always a minority against those who found
pleasure in assailing us with wanton rudeness, and who indeed often
awoke us in no gentle fashion from that legendary and self-complacent
dreaming in which we--I by inventing, and my companions by sympathizing-
-were too readily absorbed. Thus we learned once more, that, instead of
sinking into effeminacy and fantastic delights, there was reason rather
for hardening ourselves, in order either to bear or to counteract
inevitable evils.

Among the stoical exercises which I cultivated, as earnestly as it was
possible for a lad, was even the endurance of bodily pain. Our teachers
often treated us very unkindly and unskilfully, with blows and cuffs,
against which we hardened ourselves all the more as obstinacy was
forbidden under the severest penalties. A great many of the sports of
youth depend on a rivalry in such endurances: as, for instance, when
they strike each other alternately with two fingers or the whole fist,
till the limbs are numbed; or when they bear the penalty of blows
incurred in certain games, with more or less firmness; when, in
wrestling or scuffling, they do not let themselves be perplexed by the
pinches of a half-conquered opponent; or, finally, when they suppress
the pain inflicted for the sake of teasing, and even treat with
indifference the nips and ticklings with which young persons are so
active toward each other. Thus we gain a great advantage, of which
others cannot speedily deprive us.

But, as I made a sort of boast of this impassiveness, the importunity of
the others was increased; and, since rude barbarity knows no limits, it
managed to force me beyond my bounds. Let one case suffice for several.
It happened once that the teacher did not come for the usual hour of
instruction. As long as we children were all together, we entertained
ourselves quite agreeably; but when my adherents, after waiting long
enough, had left, and I remained alone with three of my enemies, these
took it into their heads to torment me, to shame me, and to drive me
away. Having left me an instant in the room, they came back with
switches, which they had made by quickly cutting up a broom. I noted
their design; and, as I supposed the end of the hour near, I at once
resolved not to resist them till the clock struck. They began,
therefore, without remorse, to lash my legs and calves in the cruellest
fashion. I did not stir, but soon felt that I had miscalculated, and
that such pain greatly lengthened the minutes. My wrath grew with my
endurance; and, at the first stroke of the hour, I grasped the one who
least expected it by the hair behind, hurled him to the earth in an
instant, pressing my knee upon his back; the second, a younger and
weaker one, who attacked me from behind, I drew by the head under my
arm, and almost throttled him with the pressure. The last, and not the
weakest, still remained; and my left hand only was left for my defense.
But I seized him by the clothes; and, with a dexterous twist on my part
and an over-precipitate one on his, I brought him down and struck his
face on the ground. They were not wanting in bites, pinches, and kicks;
but I had nothing but revenge in my limbs as well as in my heart. With
the advantage which I had acquired, I repeatedly knocked their heads
together. At last they raised a dreadful shout of murder, and we were
soon surrounded by all the inmates of the house. The switches scattered
around, and my legs, which I had bared of the stockings, soon bore
witness for me. They put off the punishment, and let me leave the house;
but I declared, that in future, on the slightest offence, I would
scratch out the eyes, tear off the ears, of any one of them, if not
throttle him.

Though, as usually happens in childish affairs, this event was soon
forgotten, and even laughed at, it was the cause that these joint
instructions became fewer, and at last entirely ceased. I was thus
again, as formerly, kept more at home; where I found my sister Cornelia,
who was only one year younger than myself, a companion always growing
more agreeable.

Still, I will not leave this topic without telling some more stories of
the many vexations caused me by my playfellows; for this is the
instructive part of such moral communications, that a man may learn how
it has gone with others, and what he also has to expect from life; and
that, whatever comes to pass, he may consider that it happens to him as
a man, and not as one specially fortunate or unfortunate. If such
knowledge is of little use for avoiding evils, it is very serviceable so
far as it qualifies us to understand our condition, and bear or even to
overcome it.

Another general remark will not be out of place here, which is, that, as
the children of the cultivated classes grow up, a great contradiction
appears. I refer to the fact, that they are urged and trained by parents
and teachers to deport themselves moderately, intelligently, and even
wisely; to give pain to no one from petulance or arrogance; and to
suppress all the evil impulses which may be developed in them; but yet,
on the other hand, while the young creatures are engaged in this
discipline, they have to suffer from others that which in them is
reprimanded and punished. In this way the poor things are brought into a
sad strait between the natural and civilized states, and, after
restraining themselves for a while, break out, according to their
characters, into cunning or violence.

Force may be warded off by force; but a well-disposed child, inclined to
love and sympathy, has little to oppose to scorn and ill-will. Though I
managed pretty well to keep off the assaults of my companions, I was by
no means equal to them in sarcasm and abuse; because he who merely
defends himself in such cases is always a loser. Attacks of this sort
consequently, when they went so far as to excite anger, were repelled
with physical force, or at least excited strange reflections in me which
could not be without results. Among other advantages which my ill-
wishers saw with envy, was the pleasure I took in the relations that
accrued to the family from my grandfather's position of
/Schultheiss/; since, as he was the first of his class, this had no
small effect on those belonging to him. Once when, after the holding of
the Piper's Court, I appeared to pride myself on having seen my
grandfather in the midst of the council, one step higher than the rest,
enthroned, as it were, under the portrait of the emperor, one of the
boys said to me in derision, that, like the peacock contemplating his
feet, I should cast my eyes back to my paternal grandfather, who had
been keeper of the Willow Inn, and would never have aspired to thrones
and coronets. I replied, that I was in no wise ashamed of that, as it
was the glory and honor of our native city that all its citizens might
consider each other equal, and every one derive profit and honor from
his exertions in his own way. I was sorry only that the good man had
been so long dead; for I had often yearned to know him in person, had
many times gazed upon his likeness, nay, had visited his tomb, and had
at least derived pleasure from the inscription on the simple monument of
that past existence to which I was indebted for my own. Another ill-
wisher, who was the most malicious of all, took the first aside, and
whispered something in his ear; while they still looked at me
scornfully. My gall already began to rise, and I challenged them to
speak out. "What is more, then, if you will have it," continued the
first, "this one thinks you might go looking about a long time before
you could find your grandfather." I now threatened them more vehemently
if they did not more clearly explain themselves. Thereupon they brought
forward an old story, which they pretended to have overheard from their
parents, that my father was the son of some eminent man, while that good
citizen had shown himself willing to take outwardly the paternal office.
They had the impudence to produce all sorts of arguments: as, for
example, that our property came exclusively from our grandmother; that
the other collateral relations who lived in Friedburg and other places
were alike destitute of property; and other reasons of the sort, which
could merely derive their weight from malice. I listened to them more
composedly than they expected, for they stood ready to fly the very
moment that I should make a gesture as if I would seize their hair. But
I replied quite calmly, and in substance, "that even this was no great
injury to me. Life was such a boon, that one might be quite indifferent
as to whom one had to thank for it; since at least it must be derived
from God, before whom we all were equals." As they could make nothing of
it, they let the matter drop for this time: we went on playing together
as before, which among children is an approved mode of reconciliation.

Still, these spiteful words inoculated me with a sort of moral disease,
which crept on in secret. It would not have displeased me at all to have
been the grandson of any person of consideration, even if it had not
been in the most lawful way. My acuteness followed up the scent, my
imagination was excited, and my sagacity put in requisition. I began to
investigate the allegation, and invented or found for it new grounds of
probability. I had heard little said of my grandfather, except that his
likeness, together with my grandmother's, had hung in a parlor of the
old house; both of which, after the building of the new one, had been
kept in an upper chamber. My grandmother must have been a very handsome
woman, and of the same age as her husband. I remembered also to have
seen in her room the miniature of a handsome gentleman in uniform, with
star and order, which after her death, and during the confusion of
house-building, had disappeared, with many other small pieces of
furniture. These and many other things I put together in my childish
head, and exercised that modern poetical talent which contrives to
obtain the sympathies of the whole cultivated world by a marvellous
combination of the important events of human life.

But as I did not venture to trust such an affair to any one, or even to
ask the most remote questions concerning it, I was not wanting in a
secret diligence, in order to get, if possible, somewhat nearer to the
matter. I had heard it explicitly maintained, that sons often bore a
decided resemblance to their fathers or grandfathers. Many of our
friends, especially Councillor Schneider, a friend of the family, were
connected by business with all the princes and noblemen of the
neighborhood, of whom, including both the ruling and the younger
branches, not a few had estates on the Rhine and Main, and in the
intermediate country, and who at times honored their faithful agents
with their portraits.

These, which I had often seen on the walls from my infancy, I now
regarded with redoubled attention; seeking whether I could not detect
some resemblance to my father or even to myself, which too often
happened to lead me to any degree of certainty. For now it was the eyes
of this, now the nose of that, which seemed to indicate some
relationship. Thus these marks led me delusively backward and forward:
and though in the end I was compelled to regard the reproach as a
completely empty tale, the impression remained; and I could not from
time to time refrain from privately calling up and testing all the
noblemen whose images had remained very distinct in my imagination. So
true is it that whatever inwardly confirms man in his self-conceit, or
flatters his secret vanity, is so highly desirable to him, that he does
not ask further, whether in other respects it may turn to his honor or
disgrace.

But, instead of mingling here serious and even reproachful reflections,
I rather turn my look away from those beautiful times; for who is able
to speak worthily of the fulness of childhood? We cannot behold the
little creatures which flit about before us otherwise than with delight,
nay, with admiration; for they generally promise more than they perform:
and it seems that Nature, among the other roguish tricks that she plays
us, here also especially designs to make sport of us. The first organs
she bestows upon children coming into the world, are adapted to the
nearest immediate condition of the creature, which, unassuming and
artless, makes use of them in the readiest way for its present purposes.
The child, considered in and for himself, with his equals, and in
relations suited to his powers, seems so intelligent and rational, and
at the same time so easy, cheerful, and clever, that one can hardly wish
it further cultivation. If children grew up according to early
indications, we should have nothing but geniuses; but growth is not
merely development: the various organic systems which constitute one man
spring one from another, follow each other, change into each other,
supplant each other, and even consume each other; so that after a time
scarcely a trace is to be found of many aptitudes and manifestations of
ability. Even when the talents of the man have on the whole a decided
direction, it will be hard for the greatest and most experienced
connoisseur to declare them beforehand with confidence; although
afterwards it is easy to remark what has pointed to a future.

By no means, therefore, is it my design wholly to comprise the stories
of my childhood in these first books; but I will rather afterwards
resume and continue many a thread which ran through the early years
unnoticed. Here, however, I must remark what an increasing influence the
incidents of the war gradually exercised upon our sentiments and mode of
life.

The peaceful citizen stands in a wonderful relation to the great events
of the world. They already excite and disquiet him from a distance; and,
even if they do not touch him, he can scarcely refrain from an opinion
and a sympathy. Soon he takes a side, as his character or external
circumstances may determine. But when such grand fatalities, such
important changes, draw nearer to him, then with many outward
inconveniences remains that inward discomfort, which doubles and
sharpens the evil, and destroys the good which is still possible. Then
he has really to suffer from friends and foes, often more from the
former than from the latter; and he knows not how to secure and preserve
either his interests or his inclinations.

The year 1757, which still passed in perfectly civic tranquillity, kept
us, nevertheless, in great uneasiness of mind. Perhaps no other was more
fruitful of events than this. Conquests, achievements, misfortunes,
restorations, followed one upon another, swallowed up and seemed to
destroy each other; yet the image of Frederick, his name and glory, soon
hovered again above all. The enthusiasm of his worshippers grew always
stronger and more animated; the hatred of his enemies more bitter; and
the diversity of opinion, which separated even families, contributed not
a little to isolate citizens, already sundered in many ways and on other
grounds. For in a city like Frankfort, where three religions divide the
inhabitants into three unequal masses; where only a few men, even of the
ruling faith, can attain to political power,--there must be many wealthy
and educated persons who are thrown back upon themselves, and, by means
of studies and tastes, form for themselves an individual and secluded
existence. It will be necessary for us to speak of such men, now and
hereafter, if we are to bring before us the peculiarities of a Frankfort
citizen of that time.

My father, immediately after his return from his travels, had in his own
way formed the design, that, to prepare himself for the service of the
city, he would undertake one of the subordinate offices, and discharge
its duties without emolument, if it wore conferred upon him without
balloting. In the consciousness of his good intentions, and according to
his way of thinking and the conception he had of himself, he believed
that he deserved such a distinction, which, indeed, was not conformable
to law or precedent. Consequently, when his suit was rejected, he fell
into ill humor and disgust, vowed that he would never accept of any
place, and, in order to render it impossible, procured the title of
Imperial Councillor, which the /Schultheiss/ and elder
/Schöffen/ bear as a special honor. He had thus made himself an
equal of the highest, and could not begin again at the bottom. The same
impulse induced him also to woo the eldest daughter of the
/Schultheiss/, so that he was excluded from the council on this
side also. He was now of that number of recluses who never form
themselves into a society. They are as much isolated in respect to each
other as they are in regard to the whole, and the more so as in this
seclusion the character becomes more and more uncouth. My father, in his
travels and in the world which he had seen, might have formed some
conception of a more elegant and liberal mode of life than was, perhaps,
common among his fellow-citizens. In this respect, however, he was not
entirely without predecessors and associates.

The name of Uffenbach is well known. At that time, there was a Schöff
von Uffenbach, who was generally respected. He had been in Italy; had
applied himself particularly to music; sang an agreeable tenor; and,
having brought home a fine collection of pieces, concerts and oratorios
were performed at his house. Now, as he sang in these himself, and held
musicians in great favor, it was not thought altogether suitable to his
dignity; and his invited guests, as well as the other people of the
country, allowed themselves many a jocose remark on the matter.

I remember, too, a Baron von Hakel, a rich nobleman, who, being married,
but childless, occupied a charming house in the Antonius Street, fitted
up with all the appurtenances of a dignified position in life. He also
possessed good pictures, engravings, antiques, and much else which
generally accumulates with collectors and lovers of art. From time to
time he asked the more noted personages to dinner, and was beneficent in
a careful way of his own; since he clothed the poor in his own house,
but kept back their old rags, and gave them a weekly charity, on
condition that they should present themselves every time clean and neat
in the clothes bestowed on them. I can recall him but indistinctly, as a
genial, well-made man; but more clearly his auction, which I attended
from beginning to end, and, partly by command of my father, partly from
my own impulse, purchased many things that are still to be found in my
collections.

At an earlier date than this,--so early that I scarcely set eyes upon
him,--John Michael von Loen gained considerable repute in the literary
world as well as at Frankfort. Not a native of Frankfort, he settled
there, and married a sister of my grandmother Textor, whose maiden name
was Lindheim. Familiar with the court and political world, and rejoicing
in a renewed title of nobility, he had acquired reputation by daring to
take part in the various excitements which arose in Church and State. He
wrote "The Count of Rivera," a didactic romance, the subject of which is
made apparent by the second title, "or, The Honest Man at Court." This
work was well received, because it insisted on morality, even in courts,
where prudence only is generally at home; and thus his labor brought him
applause and respect. A second work, for that very reason, would be
accompanied by more danger. He wrote "The Only True Religion," a book
designed to advance tolerance, especially between Lutherans and
Calvinists. But here he got in a controversy with the theologians: one
Dr. Benner of Giessen, in particular, wrote against him. Von Loen
rejoined; the contest grew violent and personal, and the unpleasantness
which arose from it caused him to accept the office of president at
Lingen, which Frederick II. offered him; supposing that he was an
enlightened, unprejudiced man, and not averse to the new views that more
extensively obtained in France. His former countrymen, whom he had left
in some displeasure, averred that he was not contented there, nay, could
not be so, as a place like Lingen was not to be compared with Frankfort.
My father also doubted whether the president would be happy, and
asserted that the good uncle would have done better not to connect
himself with the king, as it was generally hazardous to get too near
him, extraordinary sovereign as he undoubtedly was; for it had been seen
how disgracefully the famous Voltaire had been arrested in Frankfort, at
the requisition of the Prussian Resident Freitag, though he had formerly
stood so high in favor, and had been regarded as the king's teacher in
French poetry. There was, on such occasions, no want of reflections and
examples to warn one against courts and princes' service, of which a
native Frankforter could scarcely form a conception.

An excellent man, Dr. Orth, I will only mention by name; because here I
have not so much to erect a monument to the deserving citizens of
Frankfort, but rather refer to them only in as far as their renown or
personal character had some influence upon me in my earliest years. Dr.
Orth was a wealthy man, and was also of that number who never took part
in the government, although perfectly qualified to do so by his
knowledge and penetration. The antiquities of Germany, and more
especially of Frankfort, have been much indebted to him: he published
remarks on the so-called "Reformation of Frankfort," a work in which the
statutes of the state are collected. The historical portions of this
book I diligently read in my youth.

Von Ochsenstein, the eldest of the three brothers whom I have mentioned
above as our neighbors, had not been remarkable during his lifetime, in
consequence of his recluse habits, but became the more remarkable after
his death, by leaving behind him a direction that common workingmen
should carry him to the grave, early in the morning, in perfect silence,
and without an attendant or follower. This was done; and the affair
caused great excitement in the city, where they were accustomed to the
most pompous funerals. All who discharged the customary offices on such
occasions rose against the innovation. But the stout patrician found
imitators in all classes; and, though such ceremonies were derisively
called ox-burials,[Footnote: A pun upon the name of Ochsenstein.--
Trans.] they came into fashion, to the advantage of many of the more
poorly provided families; while funeral parades were less and less in
vogue. I bring forward this circumstance, because it presents one of the
earlier symptoms of that tendency to humility and equality, which, in
the second half of the last century, was manifested in so many ways,
from above downward, and broke out in such unlooked-for effects.

Nor was there any lack of antiquarian amateurs. There were cabinets of
pictures, collections of engravings; while the curiosities of our own
country especially were zealously sought and hoarded. The older decrees
and mandates of the imperial city, of which no collection had been
prepared, were carefully searched for in print and manuscript, arranged
in the order of time, and preserved with reverence, as a treasure of
native laws and customs. The portraits of Frankforters, which existed in
great number, were also brought together, and formed a special
department of the cabinets.

Such men my father appears generally to have taken as his models. He was
wanting in none of the qualities that pertain to an upright and
respectable citizen. Thus, after he had built his house, he put his
property of every sort into order. An excellent collection of maps by
Schenck and other geographers at that time eminent, the aforesaid
decrees and mandates, the portraits, a chest of ancient weapons, a case
of remarkable Venetian glasses, cups and goblets, natural curiosities,
works in ivory, bronzes, and a hundred other things, were separated and
displayed; and I did not fail, whenever an auction occurred, to get some
commission for the increase of his possessions.

I must still speak of one important family, of which I had heard strange
things since my earliest years, and of some of whose members I myself
lived to see a great deal that was wonderful,--I mean the Senkenbergs.
The father, of whom I have little to say, was an opulent man. He had
three sons, who, even in their youth, uniformly distinguished themselves
as oddities. Such things are not well received in a limited city, where
no one is suffered to render himself conspicuous, either for good or
evil. Nicknames and odd stories, long kept in memory, are generally the
fruit of such singularity. The father lived at the corner of Hare Street
(/Hasengasse/), which took its name from a sign on the house, that
represented one hare at least, if not three hares. They consequently
called these three brothers only the three Hares, which nickname they
could not shake off for a long while. But as great endowments often
announce themselves in youth in the form of singularity and awkwardness,
so was it also in this case. The eldest of the brothers was the
/Reichshofrath/ (Imperial Councillor) von Senkenberg, afterwards so
celebrated. The second was admitted into the magistracy, and displayed
eminent abilities, which, however, he subsequently abused in a
pettifogging and even infamous way, if not to the injury of his native
city, certainty to that of his colleagues. The third brother, a
physician and man of great integrity, but who practised little, and that
only in high families, preserved even in his old age a somewhat
whimsical exterior. He was always very neatly dressed, and was never
seen in the street otherwise than in shoes and stockings, with a well-
powdered, curled wig, and his hat under his arm. He walked on rapidly,
but with a singular sort of stagger; so that he was sometimes on one and
sometimes on the other side of the way, and formed a complete zigzag as
he went. The wags said that he made this irregular step to get out of
the way of the departed souls, who might follow him in a straight line,
and that he imitated those who are afraid of a crocodile. But all these
jests and many merry sayings were transformed at last into respect for
him, when he devoted his handsome dwelling-house in Eschenheimer Street,
with court, garden, and all other appurtenances, to a medical
establishment, where, in addition to a hospital designed exclusively for
the citizens of Frankfort, a botanic garden, an anatomical theatre, a
chemical laboratory, a considerable library, and a house for the
director, were instituted in a way of which no university need have been
ashamed.

Another eminent man, whose efficiency in the neighborhood and whose
writings, rather than his presence, had a very important influence upon
me, was Charles Frederick von Moser, who was perpetually referred to in
our district for his activity in business. He also had a character
essentially moral, which, as the vices of human nature frequently gave
him trouble, inclined him to the so-called pious. Thus, what Von Loen
had tried to do in respect to court-life, he would have done for
business-life; introducing into it a more conscientious mode of
proceeding. The great number of small German courts gave rise to a
multitude of princes and servants, the former of whom desired
unconditional obedience; while the latter, for the most part, would work
or serve only according to their own convictions. Thus arose an endless
conflict, and rapid changes and explosions; because the effects of an
unrestricted course of proceeding become much sooner noticeable and
injurious on a small scale than on a large one. Many families were in
debt, and Imperial Commissions of Debts were appointed; others found
themselves sooner or later on the same road: while the officers either
reaped an unconscionable profit, or conscientiously made themselves
disagreeable and odious. Moser wished to act as a statesman and man of
business; and here his hereditary talent, cultivated to a profession,
gave him a decided advantage: but he at the same time wished to act as a
man and a citizen, and surrender as little as possible of his moral
dignity. His "Prince and Servant," his "Daniel in the Lions' Den," his
"Relics," paint throughout his own condition, in which he felt himself,
not indeed tortured, but always cramped. They all indicate impatience in
a condition, to the bearings of which one cannot reconcile one's self,
yet from which one cannot get free. With this mode of thinking and
feeling, he was, indeed, often compelled to seek other employments,
which, on account of his great cleverness, were never wanting. I
remember him as a pleasing, active, and, at the same time, gentle man.

The name of Klopstock had already produced a great effect upon us, even
at a distance. In the outset, people wondered how so excellent a man
could be so strangely named; but they soon got accustomed to this, and
thought no more of the meaning of the syllables. In my father's library
I had hitherto found only the earlier poets, especially those who in his
day had gradually appeared and acquired fame. All these had written in
rhyme, and my father held rhyme as indispensable in poetical works.
Canitz, Hagedorn, Drollinger, Gellert Creuz, Haller, stood in a row, in
handsome calf bindings: to these were added Neukirch's "Telemachus,"
Koppen's "Jerusalem Delivered," and other translations. I had from my
childhood diligently perused the whole of these works, and committed
portions of them to memory, whence I was often called upon to amuse the
company. A vexatious era on the other hand opened upon my father, when,
through Klopstock's "Messiah," verses, which seemed to him no verses,
became an object of public admiration.[Footnote: The Messiah is written
in hexameter verse.--Trans.] He had taken good care not to buy this
book; but the friend of the family, Councillor Schneider, smuggled it
in, and slipped it into the hands of my mother and her children.

On this man of business, who read but little, "The Messiah," as soon as
it appeared, made a powerful impression. Those pious feelings, so
naturally expressed, and yet so beautifully elevated; that pleasant
diction, even if considered merely as harmonious prose,--had so won the
otherwise dry man of business, that he regarded the first ten cantos, of
which alone we are properly speaking, as the finest book of devotion,
and once every year in Passion Week, when he managed to escape from
business, read it quietly through by himself, and thus refreshed himself
for the entire year. In the beginning he thought to communicate his
emotions to his old friend; but he was much shocked when forced to
perceive an incurable dislike cherished against a book of such valuable
substance, merely because of what appeared to him an indifferent
external form. It may readily be supposed that their conversation often
reverted to this topic; but both parties diverged more and more widely
from each other, there were violent scenes: and the compliant man was at
last pleased to be silent on his favorite work, that he might not lose,
at the same time, a friend of his youth, and a good Sunday meal.

It is the most natural wish of every man to make proselytes; and how
much did our friend find himself rewarded in secret, when he discovered
in the rest of the family hearts so openly disposed for his saint. The
copy which he used only one week during the year was given over to our
edification all the remaining time. My mother kept it secret; and we
children took possession of it when we could, that in leisure hours,
hidden in some nook, we might learn the most striking passages by heart,
and particularly might impress the most tender as well as the most
violent parts on our memory as quickly as possible.

Porcia's dream we recited in a sort of rivalry, and divided between us
the wild dialogue of despair between Satan and Adramelech, who have been
cast into the Red Sea. The first part, as the strongest, had been
assigned to me; and the second, as a little more pathetic, was
undertaken by my sister. The alternate and horrible but well-sounding
curses flowed only thus from our mouths, and we seized every opportunity
to accost each other with these infernal phrases.

One Saturday evening in winter,--my father always had himself shaved
over night, that on Sunday morning he might dress for church at his
ease,--we sat on a footstool behind the stove, and muttered our
customary imprecations in a tolerably low voice, while the barber was
putting on the lather. But now Adramelech had to lay his iron hands on
Satan: my sister seized me with violence, and recited, softly enough,
but with increasing passion,--

"Give me thine aid, I entreat thee: I'll worship thee if thou demandest,
 Thee, thou reprobate monster, yes, thee, of all criminals blackest!
 Aid me. I suffer the tortures of death, everlasting, avenging!
 Once, in the times gone by, I with furious hatred could hate thee:
 Now I can hate thee no more! E'en this is the sharpest of tortures."

Thus far all went on tolerably; but loudly, with a dreadful voice, she
cried the following words:--

"Oh, how utterly crushed I am now!"

The good surgeon was startled, and emptied the lather-basin into my
father's bosom. There was a great uproar; and a severe investigation was
held, especially with respect to the mischief which might have been done
if the shaving had been actually going forward. In order to relieve
ourselves of all suspicions of mischievousness, we pleaded guilty of
having acted these Satanic characters; and the misfortune occasioned by
the hexameters was so apparent, that they were again condemned and
banished.

Thus children and common people are accustomed to transform the great
and sublime into a sport, and even a farce; and how indeed could they
otherwise abide and endure it?



THIRD BOOK.

At that time the general interchange of personal good wishes made the
city very lively on New-Year's Day. Those who otherwise did not easily
leave home, donned their best clothes, that for a moment they might be
friendly and courteous to their friends and patrons. The festivities at
my grandfather's house on this day were pleasures particularly desired
by us children. At early dawn the grandchildren had already assembled
there to hear the drums, oboes, clarinets, trumpets, and cornets played
upon by the military, the city musicians, and whoever else might furnish
his tones. The New-Year's gifts, sealed and superscribed, were divided
by us children among the humbler congratulators; and, as the day
advanced, the number of those of higher rank increased. The relations
and intimate friends appeared first, then the subordinate officials;
even the gentlemen of the council did not fail to pay their respects to
the /Schultheiss/, and a select number were entertained in the
evening in rooms which were else scarcely opened throughout the year.
The tarts, biscuits, marchpane, and sweet wine had the greatest charm
for the children; and, besides, the /Schultheiss/ and the two
burgomasters annually received from some institutions some article of
silver, which was then bestowed upon the grandchildren and godchildren
in regular gradation. In fine, this small festival was not wanting in
any of those things which usually glorify the greatest.

The New-Year's Day of 1759 approached, as desirable and pleasant to us
children as any preceding one, but full of import and foreboding to
older persons. To the passage of the French troops people certainly had
become accustomed; and they happened often, but they had been most
frequent in the last days of the past year. According to the old usage
of an imperial town, the warder of the chief tower sounded his trumpet
whenever troops approached; and on this New-Year's Day he would not
leave off, which was a sign that large bodies were in motion on several
sides. They actually marched through the city in greater masses on this
day, and the people ran to see them pass by. We had generally been used
to see them go through in small parties; but these gradually swelled,
and there was neither power nor inclination to stop them. In short, on
the 2d of January, after a column had come through Sachsenhausen over
the bridge, through the Fahrgasse, as far as the Police Guard-House, it
halted, overpowered the small company which escorted it, took possession
of the before-mentioned Guard-House, marched down the Zeil, and, after a
slight resistance, the main guard were also obliged to yield. In a
moment the peaceful streets were turned into a scene of war. The troops
remained and bivouacked there until lodgings were provided for them by
regular billeting.

This unexpected, and, for many years, unheard-of, burden weighed heavily
upon the comfortable citizens; and to none could it be more cumbersome
than to my father, who was obliged to take foreign military inhabitants
into his scarcely finished house, to open for them his well-furnished
reception-rooms, which were generally closed, and to abandon to the
caprices of strangers all that he had been used to arrange and keep so
carefully. Siding as he did with the Prussians, he was now to find
himself besieged in his own chambers by the French: it was, according to
his way of thinking, the greatest misfortune that could happen to him.
Had it, however, been possible for him to have taken the matter more
easily, he might have saved himself and us many sad hours; since he
spoke French well, and could deport himself with dignity and grace in
the daily intercourse of life. For it was the king's lieutenant who was
quartered on us; and he, although a military person, had only to settle
civil occurrences, disputes between soldiers and citizens, and questions
of debt and quarrels. This was the Count Thorane, a native of Grasse in
Provence, not far from Antibes: a tall, thin, stern figure, with a face
much disfigured by the small-pox; black, fiery eyes; and a dignified,
reserved demeanor. His first entrance was at once favorable for the
inmates of the house. They spoke of the different apartments, some of
which were to be given up, and others retained by the family; and, when
the count heard a picture-room mentioned, he immediately requested
permission, although it was already night, at least to give a hasty look
at the pictures by candlelight. He took extreme pleasure in these
things, behaved in the most obliging manner to my father, who
accompanied him; and when he heard that the greater part of the artists
were still living, and resided in Frankfurt and its neighborhood, he
assured us that he desired nothing more than to know them as soon as
possible, and to employ them.

But even this sympathy in respect to art could not change my father's
feelings nor bend his character. He permitted what he could not prevent,
but kept at a distance in inactivity; and the uncommon state of things
around him was intolerable to him, even in the veriest trifle.

Count Thorane behaved himself, meanwhile, in an exemplary manner. He
would not even have his maps nailed on the walls, that he might not
injure the new hangings. His people were skilful, quiet, and orderly:
but in truth, as, during the whole day and a part of the night there was
no quiet with him, one complainant quickly following another, arrested
persons being brought in and led out, and all officers and adjutants
being admitted to his presence,--as, moreover, the count kept an open
table every day, it made, in the moderately sized house, arranged only
for a family, and with but one open staircase running from top to
bottom, a movement and a buzzing like that in a beehive; although every
thing was managed with moderation, gravity, and severity.

As mediator between the irritable master of the house--who became daily
more of a hypochondriac self-tormentor--and his well-intentioned, but
stern and precise, military guest, there was a pleasant interpreter, a
handsome, corpulent, lively man, who was a citizen of Frankfort, spoke
French well, knew how to adapt himself to every thing, and only made a
jest of many little annoyances. Through him my mother had sent to the
count a representation of the situation in which she was placed, owing
to her husband's state of mind. He had explained the matter so
skilfully,--had laid before him the new and scarcely furnished house,
the natural reserve of the owner, his occupation in the education of his
family, and all that could be said to the same effect,--that the count,
who in his capacity took the greatest pride in the utmost justice,
integrity, and honorable conduct, resolved here also to behave in an
exemplary manner to those upon whom he was quartered, and, indeed, never
swerved from this resolution under varying circumstances, during the
several years he staid with us.

My mother possessed some knowledge of Italian, a language not altogether
unknown to any of the family: she therefore resolved to learn French
immediately; for which purpose the interpreter, for whose child she had
stood godmother during these stormy times, and who now, therefore, as a
gossip,[Footnote: The obsolete word, "gossip," has been revived as an
equivalent for the German, "/gevatter/." But it should be observed
that this word not only signifies godfather, but that the person whose
child has another person for godfather (or godmother) is that person's
/gevatter/, or /gevatterin/ (feminine).] felt a redoubled
interest in our house, devoted every spare moment to his child's
godmother (for he lived directly opposite); and, above all, he taught
her those phrases which she would be obliged to use in her personal
intercourse with the count. This succeeded admirably. The count was
flattered by the pains taken by the mistress of the house at her age:
and as he had a cheerful, witty vein in his character, and he liked to
exhibit a certain dry gallantry, a most friendly relation arose between
them; and the allied godmother and father could obtain from him whatever
they wanted.

If, as I said before, it had been possible to cheer up my father, this
altered state of things would have caused little inconvenience. The
count practised the severest disinterestedness; he even declined
receiving gifts which pertained to his situation; the most trifling
thing which could have borne the appearance of bribery, he rejected
angrily, and even punished. His people were most strictly forbidden to
put the proprietor of the house to the least expense. We children, on
the contrary, were bountifully supplied from the dessert. To give an
idea of the simplicity of those times, I must take this opportunity to
mention that my mother grieved us excessively one day, by throwing away
the ices which had been sent us from the table, because she would not
believe it possible for the stomach to bear real ice, however it might
be sweetened.

Besides these dainties, which we gradually learned to enjoy and to
digest with perfect ease, it was very agreeable for us children to be in
some measure released from fixed hours of study and strict discipline.
My father's ill humor increased: he could not resign himself to the
unavoidable. How he tormented himself, my mother, the interpreter, the
councillors, and all his friends, only to rid him of the count! In vain
they represented to him, that, under existing circumstances, the
presence of such a man in the house was an actual benefit, and that the
removal of the count would be followed by a constant succession of
officers or of privates. None of these arguments had any effect. To him
the present seemed so intolerable, that his indignation prevented his
conceiving any thing worse that could follow.

In this way his activity, which he had been used chiefly to devote to
us, was crippled. The lessons he gave us were no longer required with
the former exactness; and we tried to gratify our curiosity for military
and other public proceedings as much as possible, not only at home, but
also in the streets, which was the more easily done, as the front door,
open day and night, was guarded by sentries who paid no attention to the
running to and fro of restless children.

The many affairs which were settled before the tribunal of the royal
lieutenant had quite a peculiar charm, from his making it a point to
accompany his decisions with some witty, ingenious, or lively turn. What
he decreed was strictly just, his manner of expressing it whimsical and
piquant. He seemed to have taken the Duke of Ossuna as his model.
Scarcely a day passed in which the interpreter did not tell some
anecdote or other of this kind to amuse us and my mother. This lively
man had made a little collection of such Solomonian decisions; but I
only remember the general impression, and cannot recall to my mind any
particular case.

By degrees we became better acquainted with the strange character of the
count. This man clearly understood his own peculiarities; and as there
were times in which he was seized with a sort of dejection,
hypochondria, or by whatever name we may call the evil demon, he
withdrew into his room at such hours, which were often lengthened into
days, saw no one but his /valet/, and in urgent cases could not
even be prevailed upon to receive any one. But, as soon as the evil
spirit had left him, he appeared as before, active, mild, and cheerful.
It might be inferred from the talk of his /valet/, Saint Jean, a
small, thin man of lively good nature, that in his earlier years he had
caused a great misfortune when overcome by this temper; and that,
therefore, in so important a position as his, exposed to the eyes of all
the world, he had earnestly resolved to avoid similar aberrations.

During the very first days of the count's residence with us, all the
Frankfort artists, as Hirt, Schütz, Trautmann, Nothnagel, and Junker,
were called to him. They showed their finished pictures, and the count
bought such as were for sale. My pretty, light room in the gable-end of
the attic was given up to him, and immediately turned into a cabinet and
studio; for he designed to keep all the artists at work for a long time,
especially Seekatz of Darmstadt, whose pencil, particularly in simple
and natural representations, highly pleased him. He therefore caused to
be sent from Grasse, where his elder brother possessed a handsome house,
the dimensions of all the rooms and cabinets; then considered, with the
artists, the divisions of the walls, and fixed accordingly upon the size
of the large oil-pictures, which were not to be set in frames, but to be
fastened upon the walls like pieces of tapestry. And now the work went
on zealously. Seekatz undertook country scenes, and succeeded extremely
well in his old people and children, which were copied directly from
nature. His young men did not answer so well,--they were almost all too
thin; and his women failed from the opposite cause. For as he had a
little, fat, good, but unpleasant-looking, wife, who would let him have
no model but herself, he could produce nothing agreeable. He was also
obliged to exceed the usual size of his figures. His trees had truth,
but the foliage was over minute. He was a pupil of Brinkmann, whose
pencil in easel pictures is not contemptible.

Schütz, the landscape painter, had perhaps the best of the matter. He
was thoroughly master of the Rhine country, and of the sunny tone which
animates it in the fine season. Nor was he entirely unaccustomed to work
on a larger scale, and then he showed no want of execution or keeping.
His paintings were of a cheerful cast.

Trautmann /Rembrandtized/ some resurrection miracles out of the New
Testament, and alongside of them set fire to villages and mills. One
cabinet was entirely allotted to him, as I found from the designs of the
rooms. Hirt painted some good oak and beech forests. His cattle were
praiseworthy.

Junker, accustomed to the imitation of the most elaborate Dutch, was
least able to manage this tapestry-work; but he condescended to ornament
many compartments with flowers and fruits for a handsome price.

As I had known all these men from my earliest youth, and had often
visited them in their studios, and as the count also liked to have me
with him, I was present at the suggestions, consultations, and orders,
as well as at the deliveries, of the pictures, and ventured to speak my
opinion freely when sketches and designs were handed in. I had already
gained among amateurs, particularly at auctions, which I attended
diligently, the reputation of being able to tell at once what any
historical picture represented, whether taken from biblical or profane
history, or from mythology; and, even if I did not always hit upon the
meaning of allegorical pictures, there was seldom any one present who
understood it better than I. Often had I persuaded the artists to
represent this or that subject, and I now joyfully made use of these
advantages. I still remember writing a circumstantial essay, in which I
described twelve pictures which were to exhibit the history of Joseph:
some of them were executed.

After these achievements, which were certainly laudable in a boy, I will
mention a little disgrace which happened to me within this circle of
artists. I was well acquainted with all the pictures which had from time
to time been brought into that room. My youthful curiosity left nothing
unseen or unexplored. I once found a little black box behind the stove:
I did not fail to investigate what might be concealed in it, and drew
back the bolt without long deliberation. The picture contained was
certainly of a kind not usually exposed to view; and, although I tried
to bolt it again immediately, I was not quick enough. The count entered,
and caught me. "Who allowed you to open that box?" he asked, with all
his air of a royal lieutenant. I had not much to say for myself, and he
immediately pronounced my sentence in a very stern manner: "For eight
days," said he, "you shall not enter this room." I made a bow, and
walked out. Even this order I obeyed most punctually; so that the good
Seekatz, who was then at work in the room, was very much annoyed, for he
liked to have me about him: and, out of a little spite, I carried my
obedience so far, that I left Seekatz's coffee, which I generally
brought him, upon the threshold. He was then obliged to leave his work
and fetch it, which he took so ill, that he well nigh began to dislike
me.

It now seems necessary to state more circumstantially, and to make
intelligible, how, under the circumstances, I made my way with more or
less ease through the French language, which, however, I had never
learned. Here, too, my natural gift was of service to me; enabling me
easily to catch the sound of a language, its movement, accent, tone, and
all other outward peculiarities. I knew many words from the Latin;
Italian suggested still more; and by listening to servants and soldiers,
sentries and visitors, I soon picked up so much, that, if I could not
join in conversation, I could at any rate manage single questions and
answers. All this, however, was little compared to the profit I derived
from the theatre. My grandfather had given me a free ticket, which I
used daily, in spite of my father's reluctance, by dint of my mother's
support. There I sat in the pit, before a foreign stage, and watched the
more narrowly the movement and the expression, both of gesture and
speech; as I understood little or nothing of what was said, and
therefore could only derive entertainment from the action and the tone
of voice. I understood least of comedy; because it was spoken rapidly,
and related to the affairs of common life, of the phrases of which I
knew nothing. Tragedy was not so often played; and the measured step,
the rhythm of the Alexandrines, the generality of the expression, made
it more intelligible to me in every way. It was not long before I took
up Racine, which I found in my father's library, and declaimed the plays
to myself, in the theatrical style and manner, as the organ of my ear,
and the organ of speech, so nearly akin to that, had caught it, and this
with considerable animation; although I could not yet understand a whole
connected speech. I even learned entire passages by rote like a trained
talking-bird, which was easier to me, from having previously committed
to memory passages from the Bible which are generally unintelligible to
a child, and accustomed myself to reciting them in the tone of the
Protestant preachers. The versified French comedy was then much in
vogue: the pieces of Destouches, Marivaux, and La Chaussée were often
produced; and I still remember distinctly many characteristic figures.
Of those of Molière I recollect less. What made the greatest impression
upon me was "The Hypermnestra" of Lemière, which, as a new piece, was
brought out with care and often repeated. "The Devin du Village," "Rose
et Colas," "Annette et Lubin," made each a very pleasant impression upon
me. I can even now recall the youths and maidens decorated with ribbons,
and their gestures. It was not long before the wish arose in me to see
the interior of the theatre, for which many opportunities were offered
me. For as I had not always patience to stay and listen to the entire
plays, and often carried on all sorts of games with other children of my
age in the corridors, and in the milder season even before the door, a
handsome, lively boy joined us, who belonged to the theatre, and whom I
had seen in many little parts, though only casually. He came to a better
understanding with me than with the rest, as I could turn my French to
account with him; and he the more attached himself to me because there
was no boy of his age or his nation at the theatre, or anywhere in the
neighborhood. We also went together at other times, as well as during
the play; and, even while the representations went on, he seldom left me
in peace. He was a most delightful little braggart, chattered away
charmingly and incessantly, and could tell so much of his adventures,
quarrels, and other strange incidents, that he amused me wonderfully;
and I learned from him in four weeks more of the language, and of the
power of expressing myself in it, than can be imagined: so that no one
knew how I had attained the foreign tongue all at once, as if by
inspiration.

In the very earliest days of our acquaintance, he took me with him upon
the stage, and led me especially to the /foyers/, where the actors
and actresses remained during the intervals of the performance, and
dressed and undressed. The place was neither convenient nor agreeable;
for they had squeezed the theatre into a concert-room, so that there
were no separate chambers for the actors behind the stage. A tolerably
large room adjoining, which had formerly served for card-parties, was
now mostly used by both sexes in common, who appeared to feel as little
ashamed before each other as before us children, if there was not always
the strictest propriety in putting on or changing the articles of dress.
I had never seen any thing of the kind before; and yet from habit, after
repeated visits, I soon found it quite natural.

It was not long before a very peculiar interest of my own arose. Young
Derones, for so I will call the boy whose acquaintance I still kept up,
was, with the exception of his boasting, a youth of good manners and
very courteous demeanor. He made me acquainted with his sister, a girl
who was a few years older than we were, and a very pleasant, well-grown
girl, of regular form, brown complexion, black hair and eyes: her whole
deportment had about it something quiet, even sad. I tried to make
myself agreeable to her in every way, but I could not attract her
notice. Young girls think themselves much more advanced than younger
boys; and, while aspiring to young men, they assume the manner of an
aunt towards the boy whose first inclination is turned towards them.--
With a younger brother of his, I had no acquaintance.

Sometimes, when their mother had gone to rehearsals, or was out
visiting, we met at her house to play and amuse ourselves. I never went
there without presenting the fair one with a flower, a fruit, or
something else; which she always received very courteously, and thanked
me for most politely: but I never saw her sad look brighten, and found
no trace of her having given me a further thought. At last I fancied I
had discovered her secret. The boy showed me a crayon-drawing of a
handsome man, behind his mother's bed, which was hung with elegant silk
curtains; remarking at the same time, with a sly look, that this was not
papa, but just the same as papa: and as he glorified this man, and told
me many things in his circumstantial and ostentatious manner, I thought
I had discovered that the daughter might belong to the father, but the
other two children to the intimate friend. I thus explained to myself
her melancholy look, and loved her for it all the more.

My liking for this girl assisted me in bearing the braggadocio of her
brother, who did not always keep within bounds. I had often to endure
prolix accounts of his exploits,--how he had already often fought,
without wishing to injure the other, all for the mere sake of honor. He
had always contrived to disarm his adversary, and had then forgiven him;
nay, he was such a good fencer, that he was once very much perplexed by
striking the sword of his opponent up into a high tree, so that it was
not easy to be got again.

What much facilitated my visits to the theatre was, that my free ticket,
coming from the hands of the /Schultheiss/, gave me access to any
of the seats, and therefore also to those in the proscenium. This was
very deep, after the French style, and was bordered on both sides with
seats, which, surrounded by a low rail, ascended in several rows one
behind another, so that the first seats were but a little elevated above
the stage. The whole was considered a place of special honor, and was
generally used only by officers; although the nearness of the actors
destroyed, I will not say all illusion, but, in a measure, all
enjoyment. I have thus experienced and seen with my own eyes the usage
or abuse of which Voltaire so much complains. If, when the house was
very full at such time as troops were passing through the town, officers
of distinction strove for this place of honor, which was generally
occupied already, some rows of benches and chairs were placed in the
proscenium on the stage itself, and nothing remained for the heroes and
heroines but to reveal their secrets in the very limited space between
the uniforms and orders. I have even seen the "Hypermnestra" performed
under such circumstances.

The curtain did not fall between the acts: and I must yet mention a
strange custom, which I thought quite extraordinary; as its
inconsistency with art was to me, as a good German boy, quite
unendurable. The theatre was considered the greatest sanctuary, and any
disturbance occurring there would have been instantly resented as the
highest crime against the majesty of the public. Therefore, in all
comedies, two grenadiers stood with their arms grounded, in full view,
at the two sides of the back scene, and were witnesses of all that
occurred in the bosom of the family. Since, as I said before, the
curtain did not fall between the acts, two others, while music struck
up, relieved guard, by coming from the wings, directly in front of the
first, who retired in the same measured manner. Now, if such a practice
was well fitted to destroy all that is called illusion on the stage, it
is the more striking, because it was done at a time when, according to
Diderot's principles and examples, the most /natural naturalness/
was required upon the stage, and a perfect deception was proposed as the
proper aim of theatrical art. Tragedy, however, was absolved from any
such military-police regulations; and the heroes of antiquity had the
right of guarding themselves: nevertheless, the same grenadiers stood
near enough behind the side scenes.

I will also mention that I saw Diderot's "Father of a Family," and "The
Philosophers" of Palissot, and still perfectly remember the figure of
the philosopher in the latter piece going upon all fours, and biting
into a raw head of lettuce.

All this theatrical variety could not, however, keep us children always
in the theatre. In fine weather we played in front of it, and in the
neighborhood, and committed all manner of absurdities, which, especially
on Sundays and festivals, by no means corresponded to our personal
appearance; for I and my comrades then appeared dressed as I described
myself in the tale, with the hat under the arm, and a little sword, the
hilt of which was ornamented with a large silk knot. One day when we had
long gone in this way, and Derones had joined us, he took it into his
head to affirm that I had insulted him, and must give him satisfaction.
I could not, in truth, conceive what was the cause of this; but I
accepted his challenge, and was going to draw my sword. However, he
assured me, that in such cases it was customary to go to secluded spots,
in order to be able to settle the matter more conveniently. We therefore
went behind some barns, and placed ourselves in the proper position. The
duel took place in a somewhat theatrical style,--the blades clashed, and
the thrusts followed close upon each other; but in the heat of the
combat he remained with the point of his sword lodged in the knot of my
hilt. This was pierced through; and he assured me that he had received
the most complete satisfaction, then embraced me, also theatrically: and
we went to the next coffee-house to refresh ourselves with a glass of
almond-milk after our mental agitation, and to knit more closely the old
bond of friendship.

On this occasion I will relate another adventure which also happened to
me at the theatre, although at a later time. I was sitting very quietly
in the pit with one of my playmates; and we looked with pleasure at a
/pas seul/, which was executed with much skill and grace by a
pretty boy about our own age,--the son of a French dancing-master, who
was passing through the city. After the fashion of dancers, he was
dressed in a close vest of red silk, which, ending in a short hoop-
petticoat, like a runner's apron, floated above the knee. We had given
our meed of applause to this young artist with the whole public, when, I
know not how, it occurred to me to make a moral reflection. I said to my
companion, "How handsomely this boy was dressed, and how well he looked!
who knows in how tattered a jacket he may sleep to-night!" All had
already risen, but the crowd prevented our moving. A woman who had sat
by me, and who was now standing close beside me, chanced to be the
mother of the young artist, and felt much offended by my reflection.
Unfortunately, she knew German enough to understand me, and spoke it
just as much as was necessary to scold. She abused me violently. Who was
I, she would like to know, that had a right to doubt the family and
respectability of this young man? At all events, she would be bound he
was as good as I; and his talents might probably procure him a fortune,
of which I could not even venture to dream. This moral lecture she read
me in the crowd, and made those about me wonder what rudeness I had
committed. As I could neither excuse myself, nor escape from her, I was
really embarrassed, and, when she paused for a moment, said without
thinking, "Well! why do you make such a noise about it?--to-day red, to-
morrow dead." [Footnote: A German proverb, "Heute roth, Morgen todt."]
These words seemed to strike the woman dumb. She stared at me, and moved
away from me as soon as it was in any degree possible. I thought no more
of my words; only, some time afterwards, they occurred to me, when the
boy, instead of continuing to perform, became ill, and that very
dangerously. Whether he died, or not, I cannot say.

Such intimations, by an unseasonably or even improperly spoken word,
were held in repute, even by the ancients; and it is very remarkable
that the forms of belief and of superstition have always remained the
same among all people and in all times.

From the first day of the occupation of our city, there was no lack of
constant diversion, especially for children and young people. Plays and
balls, parades, and marches through the town, attracted our attention in
all directions. The last particularly were always increasing, and the
soldiers' life seemed to us very merry and agreeable.

The residence of the king's lieutenant at our house procured us the
advantage of seeing by degrees all the distinguished persons in the
French army, and especially of beholding close at hand the leaders whose
names had already been made known to us by reputation. Thus we looked
from stairs and landing-places, as if from galleries, very conveniently
upon the generals who passed by. More than all the rest do I remember
the Prince Soubise as a handsome, courteous gentleman; but most
distinctly, the Maréchal de Broglio, who was a younger man, not tall,
but well built, lively, nimble, and abounding in keen glances, betraying
a clever mind.

He repeatedly came to see the king's lieutenant, and it was easily
noticed that they were conversing on weighty matters. We had scarcely
become accustomed to having strangers quartered upon us in the first
three months, when a rumor was obscurely circulated that the allies were
on the march, and that Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick was coming to drive
the French from the Main. Of these, who could not boast of any special
success in war, no high opinion was held; and, after the battle of
Rossbach, it was thought they might be dispersed. The greatest
confidence was placed in Duke Ferdinand, and all those favorable to
Prussia awaited with eagerness their delivery from the yoke hitherto
borne. My father was in somewhat better spirits: my mother was
apprehensive. She was wise enough to see that a small present evil might
easily be exchanged for a great affliction; since it was but too plain
that the French would not advance to meet the duke, but would wait an
attack in the neighborhood of the city. A defeat of the French, a
flight, a defense of the city, if it were only to cover their rear and
hold the bridge, a bombardment, a sack,--all these presented themselves
to the excited imagination, and gave anxiety to both parties. My mother,
who could bear every thing but suspense, imparted her fears to the count
through the interpreter. She received the answer usual in such cases:
she might be quite easy, for there was nothing to fear; and should keep
quiet, and mention the matter to no one.

Many troops passed through the city: we learned that they halted at
Bergen. The coming and going, the riding and running, constantly
increased; and our house was in an uproar day and night. At this time I
often saw Marshal de Broglio, always cheerful, always the same in look
and manner; and I was afterwards pleased to find a man, whose form had
made such a good and lasting impression upon me, so honorably mentioned
in history.

Thus, after an unquiet Passion Week, the Good Friday of 1759 arrived. A
profound stillness announced the approaching storm. We children were
forbidden to quit the house: my father had no quiet, and went out. The
battle began: I ascended to the garret, where indeed I was prevented
seeing the country round, but could very well hear the thunder of cannon
and the general discharge of musketry. After some hours we saw the first
symptoms of the battle in a line of wagons, in which the wounded, with
various sad mutilations and gestures, were slowly drawn by us, to be
taken to the convent of St. Mary, now transformed into a hospital. The
compassion of the citizens was instantly moved. Beer, wine, bread, and
money were distributed to those who were yet able to take them. But
when, some time after, wounded and captive Germans were seen in the
train, the pity knew no limits; and it seemed as if everybody would
strip himself of every movable that he possessed to assist his suffering
countrymen.

The prisoners, however, were an evidence of a battle unfavorable to the
allies. My father, whose party feelings made him quite certain that
these would come off victorious, had the violent temerity to go forth to
meet the expected victors, without thinking that the beaten party must
pass over him in their flight. He first repaired to his garden before
the Friedberg gate, where he found every thing lonely and quiet; then
ventured to the Bornheim heath, where he soon descried various
stragglers of the army, who were scattered, and amused themselves by
shooting at the boundary-stones, so that the rebounding lead whizzed
round the head of the inquisitive wanderer. He therefore considered it
more prudent to go back, and learned on inquiry what the report of the
firing might have before informed him, that all stood well for the
French, and that there was no thought of retreating. Reaching home in an
ill humor, the sight of his wounded and captured countrymen brought him
altogether out of his usual self-command. He also caused various
donations to be given to the passers-by; but only the Germans were to
have them, which was not always possible, as fate had packed together
both friend and foe.

My mother and we children, who had already relied on the count's word,
and had therefore passed a tolerably quiet day, were highly rejoiced;
and my mother doubly consoled the next day, when, having consulted the
oracle of her treasure-box, by the prick of a needle, she received a
very comfortable answer, both for present and future. We wished our
father similar faith and feelings; we flattered him as much as we could;
we entreated him to take some food, from which he had abstained all day;
but he repulsed our caresses and every enjoyment, and betook himself to
his chamber. Our joy, however, was not interrupted; the affair was
decided: the king's lieutenant, who, against his habit, had been on
horseback that day, at last returned home, where his presence was more
necessary than ever. We sprang to meet him, kissed his hands, and
testified our delight. This seemed much to please him. "Well," said he
more kindly than usual, "I am glad also for your sakes, my dear
children." He immediately ordered that sweetmeats, sweet wine, and the
best of every thing should be given us, and went to his room, already
surrounded by a crowd of the urging, demanding, supplicating.

We had now a fine collation, pitied our poor father who would not
partake of it, and pressed our mother to call him in; but she, more
prudent than we, well knew how distasteful such gifts would be to him.
In the mean time she had prepared some supper, and would readily have
sent a portion up to his room; but he never tolerated such an
irregularity, even in the most extreme cases: and, after the sweet
things were removed, we endeavored to persuade him to come down into the
ordinary dining-room. At last he allowed himself to be persuaded
unwillingly, and we had no notion of the mischief which we were
preparing for him and ourselves. The stair-case ran through the whole
house, along all the ante-rooms. My father, in coming down, had to go
directly past the count's apartment. This ante-room was so full of
people, that the count, to get through much at once, resolved to come
out; and this happened unfortunately at the moment when my father
descended. The count met him cheerfully, greeted him, and remarked, "You
will congratulate yourselves and us that this dangerous affair is so
happily terminated."--"By no means!" replied my father in a rage: "would
that it had driven you to the Devil, even if I had gone with you!" The
count restrained himself for a moment, and then broke out with wrath,
"You shall pay for this," cried he: "you shall find that you have not
thus insulted the good cause and myself for nothing!"

My father, meanwhile, came down very calmly, seated himself near us,
seemed more cheerful than before, and began to eat. We were glad of
this, unconscious of the dangerous method in which he had rolled the
stone from his heart. Soon afterwards my mother was called out, and we
had great pleasure in chattering to our father about the sweet things
the count had given us. Our mother did not return. At last the
interpreter came in. At a hint from him we were sent to bed: it was
already late, and we willingly obeyed. After a night quietly slept
through, we heard of the violent commotion which had shaken the house
the previous evening. The king's lieutenant had instantly ordered my
father to be led to the guard-house. The subalterns well knew that he
was never to be contradicted, yet they had often earned thanks by
delaying the execution of his orders. The interpreter, whose presence of
mind never forsook him, contrived to excite this disposition in them
very strongly. The tumult, moreover, was so great, that a delay brought
with it its own concealment and excuse. He had called out my mother, and
put the adjutant, as it were, into her hands, that, by prayers and
representations, she might gain a brief postponement of the matter. He
himself hurried up to the count, who with great self-command had
immediately retired into the inner room, and would rather allow the most
urgent affair to stand still, than wreak on an innocent person the ill
humor once excited in him, and give a decision derogatory to his
dignity.

The address of the interpreter to the count, the train of the whole
conversation, were often enough repeated to us by the fat interpreter,
who prided himself not a little on the fortunate result, so that I can
still describe it from recollection.

The interpreter had ventured to open the cabinet and enter, an act which
was severely prohibited. "What do you want?" shouted the count angrily.
"Out with you!--no one but St. Jean has a right to enter here."

"Well, suppose I am St. Jean for a moment," answered the interpreter.

"It would need a powerful imagination for that! Two of him would not
make one such as you. Retire!"

"Count, you have received a great gift from heaven; and to that I
appeal."

"You think to flatter me! Do not fancy you will succeed."

"You have the great gift, count, of listening to the opinions of others,
even in moments of passion--in moments of rage."

"Well, well! the question now is just about opinions, to which I have
listened too long. I know but too well that we are not liked here, and
that these citizens look askance at us."

"Not all!"

"Very many. What! These towns will be imperial towns, will they? They
saw their emperor elected and crowned: and when, being unjustly
attacked, he is in danger of losing his dominions and surrendering to an
usurper; when he fortunately finds faithful allies who pour out their
blood and treasure in his behalf,--they will not put up with the slight
burden that falls to their share towards humbling the enemy."

"But you have long known these sentiments, and have endured them like a
wise man: they are, besides, held only by a minority. A few, dazzled by
the splendid qualities of the enemy, whom you yourself prize as an
extraordinary man,--a few only, as you are aware."

"Yes, indeed! I have known and suffered it too long! otherwise this man
would not have presumed to utter such insults to my face, and at the
most critical moment. Let them be as many as they please, they shall be
punished in the person of this their audacious representative, and
perceive what they have to expect."

"Only delay, count."

"In certain things one cannot act too promptly."

"Only a little delay, count."

"Neighbor, you think to mislead me into a false step: you shall not
succeed."

"I would neither lead you into a false step nor restrain you from one:
your resolution is just,--it becomes the Frenchman and the king's
lieutenant; but consider that you are also Count Thorane."

"He has no right to interfere here."

"But the gallant man has a right to be heard."

"What would he say, then?"

"'King's lieutenant,' he would begin, 'you have so long had patience
with so many gloomy, untoward, bungling men, if they were not really too
bad. This man has certainly been too bad: but control yourself, king's
lieutenant; and every one will praise and extol you on that account.'"

"You know I can often endure your jests, but do not abuse my good will.
These men--are they, then, completely blinded? Suppose we had lost the
battle: what would have been their fate at this moment? We fight up to
the gates, we shut up the city, we halt, we defend ourselves to cover
our retreat over the bridge. Think you the enemy would have stood with
his hands before him? He throws grenades, and what he has at hand; and
they catch where they can. This house-holder--what would he have? Here,
in these rooms, a bomb might now have burst, and another have followed
it;--in these rooms, the cursed China-paper of which I have spared,
incommoding myself by not nailing up my maps! They ought to have spent
the whole day on their knees."

"How many would have done that!"

"They ought to have prayed for a blessing on us, and to have gone out to
meet the generals and officers with tokens of honor and joy, and the
wearied soldiers with refreshments. Instead of this, the poison of
party-spirit destroys the fairest and happiest moments of my life, won
by so many cares and efforts."

"It is party-spirit, but you will only increase it by the punishment of
this man. Those who think with him will proclaim you a tyrant and a
barbarian; they will consider him a martyr, who has suffered for the
good cause; and even those of the other opinion, who are now his
opponents, will see in him only their fellow-citizen, will pity him,
and, while they confess your justice, will yet feel that you have
proceeded too severely."

"I have listened to you too much already,--now, away with you!"

"Hear only this. Remember, this is the most unheard-of thing that could
befall this man, this family. You have had no reason to be edified by
the good will of the master of the house; but the mistress has
anticipated all your wishes, and the children have regarded you as their
uncle. With this single blow, you will forever destroy the peace and
happiness of this dwelling. Indeed, I may say, that a bomb falling into
the house would not have occasioned greater desolation. I have so often
admired your self-command, count: give me this time opportunity to adore
you. A warrior is worthy of honor, who considers himself a guest in the
house of an enemy; but here there is no enemy, only a mistaking man.
Control yourself, and you will acquire an everlasting fame."

"That would be odd," replied the count, with a smile.

"Merely natural," continued the interpreter: "I have not sent the wife
and children to your feet, because I know you detest such scenes; but I
will depict to you this wife and these children, how they will thank
you. I will depict them to you conversing all their lives of the battle
of Bergen, and of your magnanimity on this day, relating it to their
children, and children's children, and inspiring even strangers with
their own interest for you: an act of this kind can never perish."

"But you do not hit my weak side yet, interpreter. About posthumous fame
I am not in the habit of thinking; that is for others, not for me: but
to do right at the moment, not to neglect my duty, not to prejudice my
honor,--that is my care. We have already had too many words; now go--and
receive the thanks of the thankless, whom I spare."

The interpreter, surprised and moved by this unexpectedly favorable
issue, could not restrain his tears, and would have kissed the count's
hands. The count motioned him off, and said severely and seriously, "You
know I cannot bear such things." And with these words he went into the
ante-room to attend to his pressing affairs, and hear the claims of so
many expectant persons. So the matter was disposed of; and the next
morning we celebrated, with the remnants of the yesterday's sweetmeats,
the passing over of an evil through the threatenings of which we had
happily slept.

Whether the interpreter really spoke so wisely, or merely so painted the
scene to himself, as one is apt to do after a good and fortunate action,
I will not decide; at least he never varied it in repeating it. Indeed,
this day seemed to him both the most anxious and the most glorious in
his life.

One little incident will show how the count in general rejected all
false parade, never assumed a title which did not belong to him, and how
witty he was in his more cheerful moods.

A man of the higher class, who was one of the abstruse, solitary
Frankforters, thought he must complain of the quartering of the soldiers
upon him. He came in person; and the interpreter proffered him his
services, but the other supposed that he did not need them. He came
before the count with a most becoming bow, and said, "Your Excellency!"
The count returned the bow, as well as the "excellency." Struck by this
mark of honor, and not supposing but that the title was too humble, he
stooped lower, and said, "Monseigneur."--"Sir," said the count very
seriously, "we will not go farther, or else we may easily bring it to
Majesty." The other gentleman was extremely confused, and had not a word
to utter. The interpreter, standing at some distance, and apprised of
the whole affair, was wicked enough not to move; but the count, with
much cheerfulness, continued, "Well, now, for instance, sir, what is
your name?"--"Spangenberg," replied the other. "And mine," said the
count, "is Thorane. Spangenberg, what is your business with Thorane?
Now, then, let us sit down: the affair shall at once be settled."

And thus the affair was indeed settled at once, to the great
satisfaction of the person I have here named Spangenberg; and the same
evening, in our family circle, the story was not only told by the
waggish interpreter, but was given with all the circumstances and
gestures.

After these confusions, disquietudes, and grievances, the former
security and thoughtlessness soon returned, in which the young
particularly live from day to day, if it be in any degree possible. My
passion for the French theatre grew with every performance. I did not
miss an evening; though on every occasion, when, after the play, I sat
down with the family to supper,--often putting up with the remains,--I
had to endure my father's constant reproaches, that theatres were
useless, and would lead to nothing. In these cases I adduced all and
every argument which is at hand for the apologists of the stage when
they fall into a difficulty like mine. Vice in prosperity, and virtue in
misfortune, are in the end set right by poetical justice. Those
beautiful examples of misdeeds punished, "Miss Sarah Sampson," and "The
Merchant of London," were very energetically cited on my part: but, on
the other hand, I often came off worst when the "Fouberies de Scapin,"
and others of the sort, were in the bill; and I was forced to bear
reproaches for the delight felt by the public in the deceits of
intriguing servants, and the successful follies of prodigal young men.
Neither party was convinced; but my father was very soon reconciled to
the theatre when he saw that I advanced with incredible rapidity in the
French language.

Men are so constituted that everybody would rather undertake himself
what he sees done by others, whether he has aptitude for it or not. I
had soon exhausted the whole range of the French stage; several plays
were performed for the third and fourth times; all had passed before my
eyes and mind, from the stateliest tragedy to the most frivolous
afterpiece; and, as when a child I had presumed to imitate Terence, I
did not fail now as a boy, on a much more inciting occasion, to copy the
French forms to the best of my ability and want of ability. There were
then performed some half-mythological, half-allegorical pieces in the
taste of Piron: they partook somewhat of the nature of parody, and were
much liked. These representations particularly attracted me: the little
gold wings of a lively Mercury, the thunderbolt of a disguised Jupiter,
an amorous Danaë, or by whatever name a fair one visited by the gods
might be called, if indeed it were not a shepherdess or huntress to whom
they descended. And as elements of this kind, from "Ovid's
Metamorphoses," or the "Pantheon Mythicum" of Pomey, were humming in
swarms about my head, I had soon put together in my imagination a little
piece of the kind, of which I can only say that the scene was rural, and
that there was no lack in it of king's daughters, princes, or gods.
Mercury, especially, made so vivid an impression on me, that I could
almost be sworn that I had seen him with my own eyes.

I presented my friend Derones with a very neat copy, made by myself;
which he accepted with quite a special grace, and with a truly
patronizing air, glanced hastily over the manuscript, pointed out a few
grammatical blunders, found some speeches too long, and at last promised
to examine and judge the work more attentively when he had the requisite
leisure. To my modest question, whether the piece could by any chance be
performed, he assured me that it was not altogether impossible. In the
theatre, he said, a great deal went by favor; and he would support me
with all his heart: only the affair must be kept private; for he had
himself once on a time surprised the directors with a piece of his own,
and it would certainly have been acted if it had not been too soon
detected that he was the author. I promised him all possible silence,
and already saw in my mind's eye the name of my piece posted up in large
letters on the corners of the streets and squares.

Light-minded as my friend generally was, the opportunity of playing the
master was but too desirable. He read the piece through with attention,
and, while he sat down with me to make some trivial alterations, turned
the whole thing, in the course of the conversation, completely topsy-
turvy, so that not one stone remained on another. He struck out, added,
took away one character, substituted another,--in short, went on with
the maddest wantonness in the world, so that my hair stood on end. My
previous persuasion that he must surely understand the matter, allowed
him to have his way; for he had often laid before me so much about the
Three Unities of Aristotle, the regularity of the French drama, the
probability, the harmony of the verse, and all that belongs to these,
that I was forced to regard him, not merely as informed, but thoroughly
grounded. He abused the English and scorned the Germans; in short, he
laid before me the whole dramaturgic litany which I have so often in my
life been compelled to hear.

Like the boy in the fable, I carried my mangled offspring home, and
strove in vain to bring it to life. As, however, I would not quite
abandon it, I caused a fair copy of my first manuscript, after a few
alterations, to be made by our clerk, which I presented to my father,
and thus gained so much, that, for a long time, he let me eat my supper
in quiet after the play was over.

This unsuccessful attempt had made me reflective; and I resolved now to
learn, at the very sources, these theories, these laws, to which every
one appealed, but which had become suspicious to me chiefly through the
impoliteness of my arrogant master. This was not indeed difficult, but
laborious. I immediately read Corneille's "Treatise on the Three
Unities," and learned from that how people would have it, but why they
desired it so was by no means clear to me; and, what was worst of all, I
fell at once into still greater confusion when I made myself acquainted
with the disputes on the "Cid," and read the prefaces in which Corneille
and Racine are obliged to defend themselves against the critics and
public. Here at least I plainly saw that no man knew what he wanted;
that a piece like the "Cid," which had produced the noblest effect, was
to be condemned at the command of an all-powerful cardinal; that Racine,
the idol of the French living in my day, who had now also become my idol
(for I had got intimately acquainted with him when Schöff Von
Olenschlager made us children act "Britannicus," in which the part of
Nero fell to me),--that Racine, I say, even in his own day, was not able
to get on with the amateurs nor critics. Through all this I became more
perplexed than ever; and after having pestered myself a long time with
this talking backwards and forwards, and theoretical quackery of the
previous century, threw them to the dogs, and was the more resolute in
casting all the rubbish away, the more I thought I observed that the
authors themselves who had produced excellent things, when they began to
speak about them, when they set forth the grounds of their treatment,
when they desired to defend, justify, or excuse themselves, were not
always able to hit the proper mark. I hastened back again, therefore, to
the living present, attended the theatre far more zealously, read more
scrupulously and connectedly, so that I had perseverance enough this
time to work through the whole of Racine and Molière and a great part of
Corneille.

The king's lieutenant still lived at our house. He in no respect had
changed his deportment, especially towards us; but it was observable,
and the interpreter made it still more evident to us, that he no longer
discharged his duties with the same cheerfulness and zeal as at the
outset, though always with the same rectitude and fidelity. His
character and habits, which showed the Spaniard rather than the
Frenchman; his caprices, which were not without their influence on his
business; his unbending will under all circumstances; his susceptibility
as to whatever had reference to his person or reputation,--all this
together might perhaps sometimes bring him into conflict with his
superiors. Add to this, that he had been wounded in a duel, which had
arisen in the theatre, and it was deemed wrong that the king's
lieutenant, himself chief of police, should have committed a punishable
offence. As I have said, all this may have contributed to make him live
more retired, and here and there perhaps to act with less energy.

[Illustration: A woman spinning and another reading while a child plays
nearby.]

Meanwhile, a considerable part of the pictures he had ordered had been
delivered. Count Thorane passed his leisure hours in examining them;
while in the aforesaid gable-room he had them nailed up, canvas after
canvas, large and small, side by side, and, because there was want of
space, even one over another, and then taken down and rolled up. The
works were constantly inspected anew, the parts that were considered the
most successful were repeatedly enjoyed, but there was no want of wishes
that this or that had been differently done.

Hence arose a new and very singular operation. As one painter best
executed figures, another middle-grounds and distances, a third trees, a
fourth flowers, it struck the count that these talents might perhaps be
combined in the paintings, and that in this way perfect works might be
produced. A beginning was made at once, by having, for instance, some
beautiful cattle painted into a finished landscape. But because there
was not always adequate room for all, and a few sheep more or less was
no great matter to the cattle-painter, the largest landscape proved in
the end too narrow. Now also the painter of figures had to introduce the
shepherd and some travellers: these deprived each other of air, as we
may say; and we marvelled that they were not all stifled, even in the
most open country. No one could anticipate what was to come of the
matter, and when it was finished it gave no satisfaction. The painters
were annoyed. They had gained something by their first orders, but lost
by these after-labors; though the count paid for them also very
liberally. And, as the parts worked into each other in one picture by
several hands produced no good effect after all the trouble, every one
at last fancied that his own work had been spoiled and destroyed by that
of the others; hence the artists were within a hair's-breadth of falling
out, and becoming irreconcilably hostile to each other. These
alterations, or rather additions, were made in the before-mentioned
studio, where I remained quite alone with the artists; and it amused me
to hunt out from the studies, particularly of animals, this or that
individual or group, and to propose it for the foreground or the
distance, in which respect they many times, either from conviction or
kindness, complied with my wishes.

The partners in this affair were therefore greatly discouraged,
especially Seekatz, a very hypochondriacal, retired man, who, indeed, by
his incomparable humor, was the best of companions among friends, but
who, when he worked, desired to work alone, abstracted and perfectly
free. This man, after solving difficult problems, and finishing them
with the greatest diligence and the warmest love, of which he was always
capable, was forced to travel repeatedly from Darmstadt to Frankfort,
either to change something in his own pictures, or to touch up those of
others, or even to allow, under his superintendence, a third person to
convert his pictures into a variegated mess. His peevishness augmented,
his resistance became more decided, and a great deal of effort was
necessary on our part to guide this "gossip;" for he was one also,
according to the count's wishes. I still remember, that when the boxes
were standing ready to pack up all the pictures, in the order in which
the upholsterer might hang them up at once, at their place of
destination, a small but indispensable bit of afterwork was demanded;
but Seekatz could not be moved to come over. He had, by way of
conclusion, done the best he could, having represented, in paintings to
be placed over the doors, the four elements as children and boys, after
life, and having expended the greatest care, not only on the figures,
but on the accessories. These were delivered and paid for, and he
thought he was quit of the business forever; but now he was to come over
again, that he might enlarge, by a few touches of his pencil, some
figures, the size of which was too small. Another, he thought, could do
it just as well; he had already set about some new work; in short, he
would not come. The time for sending off the pictures was at hand; they
had, moreover, to get dry; every delay was untoward; and the count, in
despair, was about to have him fetched in military fashion. We all
wished to see the pictures finally gone, and found at last no expedient
than for the gossip interpreter to seat himself in a wagon, and fetch
over the refractory subject, with his wife and child. He was kindly
received by the count, well treated, and at last dismissed with liberal
payment.

After the pictures had been sent away, there was great peace in the
house. The gable-room in the attic was cleaned, and given up to me; and
my father, when he saw the boxes go, could not refrain from wishing to
send off the count after them. For much as the tastes of the count
coincided with his own, much as he must have rejoiced to see his
principle of patronizing living artists so generously followed out by a
man richer than himself, much as it may have flattered him that his
collection had been the occasion of bringing so considerable a profit to
a number of brave artists in a pressing time, he nevertheless felt such
a repugnance to the foreigner who had intruded into his house, that he
could not think well of any of his doings. One ought to employ painters,
but not degrade them to paper-stainers; one ought to be satisfied with
what they have done, according to their conviction and ability, even if
it does not thoroughly please one, and not be perpetually carping at it.
In short, in spite of all the count's own generous endeavors, there
could, once for all, be no mutual understanding. My father only visited
that room when the count was at table; and I can recall but one
instance, when, Seekatz having excelled himself, and the wish to see
these pictures having brought the whole house together, my father and
the count met, and manifested a common pleasure in these works of art,
which they could not take in each other.

Scarcely, therefore, had the house been cleared of the chests and boxes,
than the plan for removing the count, which had formerly been begun, but
was afterwards interrupted, was resumed. The endeavor was made to gain
justice by representations, equity by entreaties, favor by influence;
and the quarter-masters were prevailed upon to decide thus: the count
was to change his lodgings; and our house, in consideration of the
burden borne day and night for several years uninterruptedly, was to be
exempt for the future from billetting. But, to furnish a plausible
pretext for this, we were to take in lodgers on the first floor, which
the count had occupied, and thus render a new quartering, as it were,
impossible. The count, who, after the separation from his dear pictures,
felt no further peculiar interest in the house, and hoped, moreover, to
be soon recalled and placed elsewhere, was pleased to move without
opposition to another good residence, and left us in peace and good
will. Soon afterwards he quitted the city, and received different
appointments in gradation, but, it was rumored, not to his own
satisfaction. Meantime, he had the pleasure of seeing the pictures which
he had preserved with so much care felicitously arranged in his
brother's chateau: he wrote sometimes, sent dimensions, and had
different pieces executed by the artists so often named. At last we
heard nothing further about him, except after several years we were
assured that he had died as governor of one of the French colonies in
the West Indies.



 FOURTH BOOK.

However much inconvenience the quartering of the French had caused us,
we had become so accustomed to it, that we could not fail to miss it;
nor could we children fail to feel as if the house were deserted.
Moreover, it was not decreed that we should again attain perfect family
unity. New lodgers were already bespoken; and after some sweeping and
scouring, planing, and rubbing with beeswax, painting and varnishing,
the house was completely restored again. The chancery-director Moritz,
with his family, very worthy friends of my parents, moved in. He was not
a native of Frankfort, but an able jurist and man of business, and
managed the legal affairs of many small princes, counts, and lords. I
never saw him otherwise than cheerful and pleasant, and diligent with
his law-papers. His wife and children, gentle, quiet, and benevolent,
did not indeed increase the sociableness of our house; for they kept to
themselves: but a stillness, a peace, returned, which we had not enjoyed
for a long time. I now again occupied my attic-room, in which the ghosts
of the many pictures sometimes hovered before me; while I strove to
frighten them away by labor and study.

The counsellor of legation, Moritz, a brother of the chancellor, came
from this time often to our house. He was even more a man of the world,
had a handsome figure, while his manners were easy and agreeable. He
also managed the affairs of different persons of rank, and on occasions
of meetings of creditors and imperial commissions frequently came into
contact with my father. They had a high opinion of each other, and
commonly stood on the side of the creditors; though they were generally
obliged to perceive, much to their vexation, that a majority of the
agents on such occasions are usually gained over to the side of the
debtors.

The counsellor of legation readily communicated his knowledge, was fond
of mathematics; and, as these did not occur in his present course of
life, he made himself a pleasure by helping me on in this branch of
study. I was thus enabled to finish my architectural sketches more
accurately than heretofore, and to profit more by the instruction of a
drawing-master, who now also occupied us an hour every day.

This good old man was indeed only half an artist. We were obliged to
draw and combine strokes, from which eyes and noses, lips and ears, nay,
at last, whole faces and heads, were to arise; but of natural or
artistic forms there was no thought. We were tormented a long while with
this /quid pro quo/ of the human figure; and when the so-called
Passions of Le Brun were given us to copy, it was supposed at last that
we had made great progress. But even these caricatures did not improve
us. Then we went off to landscapes, foliage, and all the things which in
ordinary instruction are practised without consistency or method.
Finally we dropped into close imitation and neatness of strokes, without
troubling ourselves about the merit or taste of the original.

In these endeavors our father led the way in an exemplary manner. He had
never drawn; but he was unwilling to remain behind, now that his
children pursued this art, and would give, even in his old age, an
example how they should proceed in their youth. He therefore copied
several heads of Piazetta, from his well-known sheets in small octavo,
with an English lead-pencil upon the finest Dutch paper. In these he not
only observed the greatest clearness of outline, but most accurately
imitated the hatching of the copperplate with a light hand--only too
slightly, as in his desire to avoid hardness he brought no keeping into
his sketches. Yet they were always soft and accurate. His unrelaxing and
untiring assiduity went so far, that he drew the whole considerable
collection number by number; while we children jumped from one head to
another, and chose only those that pleased us.

About this time the long-debated project, long under consideration, for
giving us lessons in music, was carried into effect; and the last
impulse to it certainly deserves mention. It was settled that we should
learn the harpsichord, but there was always a dispute about the choice
of a master. At last I went once accidentally into the room of one of my
companions, who was just taking his lesson on the harpsichord, and found
the teacher a most charming man: for each finger of the right and left
hand he had a nickname, by which he indicated in the merriest way when
it was to be used. The black and white keys were likewise symbolically
designated, and even the tones appeared under figurative names. Such a
motley company worked most pleasantly together. Fingering and time
seemed to become perfectly easy and obvious; and, while the scholar was
put into the best humor, every thing else succeeded beautifully.

Scarcely had I reached home, than I importuned my parents to set about
the matter in good earnest at last, and give us this incomparable man
for our master on the harpsichord. They hesitated, and made inquiries:
they indeed heard nothing bad of the teacher, but, at the same time,
nothing particularly good. Meanwhile, I had informed my sister of all
the droll names: we could hardly wait for the lesson, and succeeded in
having the man engaged.

The reading of the notes began first; but, as no jokes occurred here, we
comforted ourselves with the hope, that when we went to the harpsichord,
and the fingers were needed, the jocular method would commence. But
neither keys nor fingering seemed to afford opportunity for any
comparisons. Dry as the notes were, with their strokes on and between
the five lines, the black and white keys were no less so: and not a
syllable was heard, either of "thumbling," "pointerling," or "gold
finger;" while the countenance of the man remained as imperturbable
during his dry teaching as it had been before during his dry jests. My
sister reproached me most bitterly for having deceived her, and actually
believed that it was all an invention of mine. But I was myself
confounded and learned little, though the man at once went regularly
enough to work; for I kept always expecting that the former jokes would
make their appearance, and so consoled my sister from one day to
another. They did not re-appear, however; and I should never have been
able to explain the riddle if another accident had not solved it for me.

One of my companions came in during a lesson, and at once all the pipes
of the humorous /jet d'eau/ were opened: the "thumblings" and
"pointerlings," the "pickers" and "stealers," as he used to call the
fingers; the "falings" and "galings," meaning "f" and "g;" the
"fielings" and "gielings," meaning "f" and "g" sharp, [Footnote: The
names of the sharp notes in German terminate in "is," and hence "f" and
"g" sharp are called "fis" and "gis."]--became once more extant, and
made the most wonderful manikins. My young friend could not leave off
laughing, and was rejoiced that one could learn in such a merry manner.
He vowed that he would give his parents no peace until they had given
him such an excellent man for a teacher.

And thus the way to two arts was early enough opened to me, according to
the principles of a modern theory of education, merely by good luck, and
without any conviction that I should be furthered therein by a native
talent. My father maintained that everybody ought to learn drawing; for
which reason he especially venerated the Emperor Maximilian, by whom
this had been expressly commanded. He therefore held me to it more
steadily than to music; which, on the other hand, he especially
recommended to my sister, and even out of the hours for lessons kept her
fast, during a good part of the day, at her harpsichord.

But the more I was in this way made to press on, the more I wished to
press forward of myself; and my hours of leisure were employed in all
sorts of curious occupations. From my earliest years I felt a love for
the investigation of natural things. It is often regarded as an instinct
of cruelty that children like at last to break, tear, and devour objects
with which for a long time they have played, and which they have handled
in various manners. Yet even in this way is manifested the curiosity,
the desire of learning how such things hang together, how they look
within. I remember, that, when a child, I pulled flowers to pieces to
see how the leaves were inserted into the calyx, or even plucked birds
to observe how the feathers were inserted into the wings. Children are
not to be blamed for this, when even our naturalists believe they get
their knowledge oftener by separation and division than by union and
combination,--more by killing than by making alive.

An armed loadstone, very neatly sewed up in scarlet cloth, was one day
destined to experience the effects of this spirit of inquiry. For the
secret force of attraction which it exercised, not only on the little
iron bar attached to it, but which was of such a kind that it could gain
strength and could daily bear a heavier weight,--this mysterious virtue
had so excited my admiration, that for a long time I was pleased with
merely staring at its operation. But at last I thought I might arrive at
some nearer revelation by tearing away the external covering. This was
done; but I became no wiser in consequence, as the naked iron taught me
nothing further. This also I took off; and I held in my hand the mere
stone, with which I never grew weary of making experiments of various
kinds on filings and needles,--experiments from which my youthful mind
drew no further advantage beyond that of a varied experience. I could
not manage to reconstruct the whole arrangement: the parts were
scattered, and I lost the wondrous phenomenon at the same time with the
apparatus.

Nor was I more fortunate in putting together an electrical machine. A
friend of the family, whose youth had fallen in the time when
electricity occupied all minds, often told us how, when a child, he had
desired to possess such a machine: he got together the principal
requisites, and, by the aid of an old spinning-wheel and some medicine
bottles, had produced tolerable results. As he readily and frequently
repeated the story, and imparted to us some general information on
electricity, we children found the thing very plausible, and long
tormented ourselves with an old spinning-wheel and some medicine
bottles, without producing even the smallest result. We nevertheless
adhered to our belief, and were much delighted, when at the time of the
fair, among other rarities, magical and legerdemain tricks, an
electrical machine performed its marvels, which, like those of
magnetism, were at that time already very numerous.

The want of confidence in the public method of instruction was daily
increasing. People looked about for private tutors; and, because single
families could not afford the expense, several of them united to attain
their object. Yet the children seldom agreed; the young man had not
sufficient authority; and, after frequently repeated vexations, there
were only angry partings. It is not surprising, therefore, that other
arrangements were thought of which should be more permanent as well as
more advantageous.

The thought of establishing boarding-schools (/Pensionen/) had
arisen from the necessity, which every one felt, of having the French
language taught and communicated orally. My father had brought up a
young person, who had been his footman, valet, secretary, and in short
successively all in all. This man, whose name was Pfeil, spoke French
well. After he had married, and his patrons had to think of a situation
for him, they hit upon the plan of making him establish a boarding-
school, which extended gradually into a small academy, in which every
thing necessary, and at last even Greek and Latin, were taught. The
extensive connections of Frankfort caused young French and English men
to be brought to this establishment, that they might learn German and
acquire other accomplishments. Pfeil, who was a man in the prime of
life, and of the most wonderful energy and activity, superintended the
whole very laudably; and as he could never be employed enough, and was
obliged to keep music-teachers for his scholars, he set about music on
the occasion, and practised the harpsichord with such zeal, that,
without having previously touched a note, he very soon played with
perfect readiness and spirit. He seemed to have adopted my father's
maxim, that nothing can more cheer and excite young people, than when at
mature years one declares one's self again a learner; and at an age when
new accomplishments are acquired with difficulty, one endeavors,
nevertheless, by zeal and perseverance, to excel the younger, who are
more favored by nature.

By this love of playing the harpsichord, Pfeil was led to the
instruments themselves, and, while he hoped to obtain the best, came
into connection with Frederici of Gera, whose instruments were
celebrated far and wide. He took a number of them on sale, and had now
the joy of seeing, not only one piano, but many, set up in his
residence, and of practising and being heard upon them.

The vivacity of this man brought a great rage for music into our house.
My father remained on lasting good terms with him up to certain points
of dispute. A large piano of Frederici was purchased also for us, which
I, adhering to my harpsichord, hardly touched; but which so much
increased my sister's troubles, as, to duly honor the new instrument,
she had to spend some time longer every day in practice; while my
father, as overseer, and Pfeil, as a model and encouraging friend,
alternately took their positions at her side.

A singular taste of my father's caused much inconvenience to us
children. This was the cultivation of silk, of the advantages of which,
if it were more widely extended, he had a high opinion. Some
acquaintances at Hanau, where the breeding of the worms was carried on
with great care, gave him the immediate impulse. At the proper season,
the eggs were sent to him from that place: and, as soon as the mulberry-
trees showed sufficient leaves, they had to be stripped; and the
scarcely visible creatures were most diligently tended. Tables and
stands with boards were set up in a garret-chamber, to afford them more
room and sustenance; for they grew rapidly, and, after their last change
of skin, were so voracious that it was scarcely possible to get leaves
enough to feed them,--nay, they had to be fed day and night, as every
thing depends upon there being no deficiency of nourishment when the
great and wondrous change is about to take place in them. When the
weather was favorable, this business could indeed be regarded as a
pleasant amusement; but, if the cold set in so that the mulberry-trees
suffered, it was exceedingly troublesome. Still more unpleasant was it
when rain fell during the last epoch; for these creatures cannot at all
endure moisture, and the wet leaves had to be carefully wiped and dried,
which could not always be done quite perfectly: and for this, or perhaps
some other reason also, various diseases came among the flock, by which
the poor things were swept off in thousands. The state of corruption
which ensued produced a smell really pestilential; and, because the dead
and diseased had to be taken away and separated from the healthy, the
business was indeed extremely wearisome and repulsive, and caused many
an unhappy hour to us children.

After we had one year passed the finest weeks of the spring and summer
in tending the silk-worms, we were obliged to assist our father in
another business, which, though simpler, was no less troublesome. The
Roman views, which, bound by black rods at the top and bottom, had hung
for many years on the walls of the old house, had become very yellow
through the light, dust, and smoke, and not a little unsightly through
the flies. If such uncleanliness was not to be tolerated in the new
house, yet, on the other hand, these pictures had gained in value to my
father, in consequence of his longer absence from the places
represented. For at the outset such copies serve only to renew and
revive the impressions received shortly before. They seem trifling in
comparison, and at the best only a melancholy substitute. But, as the
remembrance of the original forms fades more and more, the copies
imperceptibly assume their place: they become as dear to us as those
once were, and what we at first contemned now gains esteem and
affection. Thus it is with all copies, and particularly with portraits.
No one is easily satisfied with the counterfeit of an object still
present, but how we value every /silhouette/ of one who is absent
or departed.

In short, with this feeling of his former extravagance, my father wished
that these engravings might be restored as much as possible. It was well
known that this could be done by bleaching: and the operation, always
critical with large plates, was undertaken under rather unfavorable
circumstances; for the large boards, on which the smoked engravings were
moistened and exposed to the sun, stood in the gutters before the garret
windows, leaning against the roof, and were therefore liable to many
accidents. The chief point was, that the paper should never thoroughly
dry, but must be kept constantly moist. This was the duty of my sister
and myself; and the idleness, which would have been otherwise so
desirable, was excessively annoying on account of the tedium and
impatience, and the watchfulness which allowed of no distraction. The
end, however, was attained; and the bookbinder, who fixed each sheet
upon thick paper, did his best to match and repair the margins, which
had been here and there torn by our inadvertence. All the sheets
together were bound in a volume, and for this time preserved.

That we children might not be wanting in every variety of life and
learning, a teacher of the English language had to announce himself just
at this time, who pledged himself to teach anybody not entirely raw in
languages, English in four weeks, and to advance him to such a degree,
that, with some diligence, he could help himself farther. His price was
moderate, and he was indifferent as to the number of scholars at one
lesson. My father instantly determined to make the attempt, and took
lessons, together with my sister and myself, of this expeditious master.
The hours were faithfully kept; there was no want of repeating our
lessons; other exercises were neglected rather than this during the four
weeks; and the teacher parted from us, and we from him, with
satisfaction. As he remained longer in the town, and found many
employers, he came from time to time to look after us and to help us,
grateful that we had been among the first who placed confidence in him,
and proud to be able to cite us as examples to the others.

My father, in consequence of this, entertained a new anxiety, that
English might neatly stand in the series of my other studies in
languages. Now, I will confess that it became more and more burdensome
for me to take my occasions for study now from this grammar or
collection of examples, now from that; now from one author, now from
another,--and thus to divert my interest in a subject every hour. It
occurred to me, therefore, that I might despatch all at the same time;
and I invented a romance of six or seven brothers and sisters, who,
separated from each other and scattered over the world, should
communicate with each other alternately as to their conditions and
feelings. The eldest brother gives an account, in good German, of all
the manifold objects and incidents of his journey. The sister, in a
ladylike style, with short sentences and nothing but stops, much as
"Siegwart" was afterwards written, answers now him, now the other
brothers, partly about domestic matters, and partly about affairs of the
heart. One brother studies theology, and writes a very formal Latin, to
which he often adds a Greek postscript. To another brother, holding the
place of mercantile clerk at Hamburg, the English correspondence
naturally falls; while a still younger one at Marseilles has the French.
For the Italian was found a musician, on his first trip into the world;
while the youngest of all, a sort of pert nestling, had applied himself
to Jew-German,--the other languages having been cut off from him,--and,
by means of his frightful ciphers, brought the rest of them into
despair, and my parents into a hearty laugh at the good notion.

To obtain matter for filling up this singular form, I studied the
geography of the countries in which my creations resided, and by
inventing for those dry localities all sorts of human incidents which
had some affinity with the characters and employments of my heroes. Thus
my exercise-books became much more voluminous, my father was better
satisfied, and I was much sooner made aware of my deficiency in both
what I had acquired and possessed of my own.

Now, as such things, once begun, have no end nor limits, so it happened
in the present case; for while I strove to attain the odd Jew-German,
and to write it as well as I could read it, I soon discovered that I
ought to know Hebrew, from which alone the modern corrupted dialect
could be derived, and handled with any certainty. I consequently
explained the necessity of my learning Hebrew to my father, and
earnestly besought his consent; for I had a still higher object.
Everywhere I heard it said, that, to understand the Old as well as the
New Testament, the original languages were requisite. The latter I could
read quite easily; because, that there might be no want of exercise,
even on Sundays, the so-called Epistles and Gospels had, after church,
to be recited, translated, and in some measure explained. I now purposed
doing the same thing with the Old Testament, the peculiarities of which
had always especially interested me.

My father, who did not like to do any thing by halves, determined to
request the rector of our gymnasium, one Dr. Albrecht, to give me
private lessons weekly, until I should have acquired what was most
essential in so simple a language; for he hoped, that, if it would not
be despatched as soon as English was learned, it could at least be
managed in double the time.

Rector Albrecht was one of the most original figures in the world,--
short, broad, but not fat, ill-shaped without being deformed; in short,
an Aesop in gown and wig. His more than seventy-years-old face was
completely twisted into a sarcastic smile; while his eyes always
remained large, and, though red, were always brilliant and intelligent.
He lived in the old cloister of the barefoot friars, the seat of the
gymnasium. Even as a child, I had often visited him in company with my
parents, and had, with a kind of trembling delight, glided through the
long, dark passages, the chapels transformed into reception-rooms, the
place broken up and full of stairs and corners. Without making me
uncomfortable, he questioned me familiarly whenever we met, and praised
and encouraged me. One day, on the changing of the pupils' places after
a public examination, he saw me standing, as a mere spectator, not far
from his chair, while he distributed the silver /proemia virtulis et
diligentioe/. I was probably gazing very eagerly upon the little bag
out of which he drew the medals: he nodded to me, descended a step, and
handed me one of the silver pieces. My joy was great; although others
thought that this gift, bestowed upon a boy not belonging to the school,
was out of all order. But for this the good old man cared but little,
having always played the eccentric, and that in a striking manner. He
had a very good reputation as a schoolmaster, and understood his
business; although age no more allowed him to practise it thoroughly.
But almost more than by his own infirmities was he hindered by greater
circumstances; and, as I already knew, he was satisfied neither with the
consistory, the inspectors, the clergy, nor the teachers. To his natural
temperament, which inclined to satire, and the watching for faults and
defects, he allowed free play, both in his programmes and his public
speeches; and, as Lucian was almost the only writer whom he read and
esteemed, he spiced all that he said and wrote with biting ingredients.
Fortunately for those with whom he was dissatisfied, he never went
directly to work, but only jeered at the defects which he wanted to
reprove, with hints, allusions, classic passages, and scripture-texts.
His delivery, moreover,--he always read his discourses,--was unpleasant,
unintelligible, and, above all, was often interrupted by a cough, but
more frequently by a hollow, paunch-convulsing laugh, with which he was
wont to announce and accompany the biting passages. This singular man I
found to be mild and obliging when I began to take lessons of him. I now
went to his house daily at six o'clock in the evening, and always
experienced a secret pleasure when the outer door closed behind me, and
I had to thread the long, dark cloister-passage. We sat in his library,
at a table covered with oil-cloth, a much-read Lucian never quitting his
side.

In spite of all my willingness, I did not get at the matter without
difficulty; for my teacher could not suppress certain sarcastic remarks
as to the real truth about Hebrew. I concealed from him my designs upon
Jew-German, and spoke of a better understanding of the original text. He
smiled at this, and said I should be satisfied if I only learned to
read. This vexed me in secret, and I concentrated all my attention when
we came to the letters. I found an alphabet something like the Greek, of
which the forms were easy, and the names, for the most part, not strange
to me. All this I had soon comprehended and retained, and supposed we
should now take up reading. That this was done from right to left I was
well aware. But now all at once appeared a new army of little characters
and signs, of points and strokes of all sorts, which were in fact to
represent vowels. At this I wondered the more, as there were manifestly
vowels in the larger alphabet; and the others only appeared to be hidden
under strange appellations. I was also taught that the Jewish nation, as
long as it flourished, actually were satisfied with the former signs,
and knew no other way of writing and reading. Most willingly, then,
would I have gone on along this ancient and, as it seemed to me, easier
path; but my worthy declared rather sternly that we must go by the
grammar as it had been approved and composed. Reading without these
points and strokes, he said, was a very hard undertaking, and could be
accomplished only by the learned and those who were well practised. I
must, therefore, make up my mind to learn these little characters; but
the matter became to me more and more confused. Now, it seemed, some of
the first and larger primitive letters had no value in their places, in
order that their little after-born kindred might not stand there in
vain. Now they indicated a gentle breathing, now a guttural more or less
rough, and now served as mere equivalents. But finally, when one fancied
that he had well noted every thing, some of these personages, both great
and small, were rendered inoperative; so that the eyes always had very
much, and the lips very little, to do.

As that of which I already knew the contents had now to be stuttered in
a strange gibberish, in which a certain snuffle and gargle were not a
little commended as something unattainable, I in a certain degree
deviated from the matter, and diverted myself, in a childish way, with
the singular names of these accumulated signs. There were "emperors,"
"kings," and "dukes," [Footnote: These are the technical names for
classes of accents in the Hebrew grammar.--TRANS.] which, as accents
governing here and there, gave me not a little entertainment. But even
these shallow jests soon lost their charm. Nevertheless I was
indemnified, inasmuch as by reading, translating, repeating, and
committing to memory, the substance of the book came out more vividly;
and it was this, properly, about which I desired to be enlightened. Even
before this time, the contradiction between tradition, and the actual
and possible, had appeared to me very striking; and I had often put my
private tutors to a non-plus with the sun which stood still on Gibeon,
and the moon in the vale of Ajalon, to say nothing of other
improbabilities and incongruities. Every thing of this kind was now
awakened; while, in order to master the Hebrew, I occupied myself
exclusively with the Old Testament, and studied it, though no longer in
Luther's translation, but in the literal version of Sebastian Schmid,
printed under the text, which my father had procured for me. Here, I am
sorry to say, our lessons began to be defective in regard to practice in
the language. Reading, interpreting, grammar, transcribing, and the
repetition of words, seldom lasted a full half-hour; for I immediately
began to aim at the sense of the matter, and, though we were still
engaged in the first book of Moses, to utter several things suggested to
me by the later books. At first the good old man tried to restrain me
from such digressions, but at last they seemed to entertain him also. It
was impossible for him to suppress his characteristic cough and chuckle:
and, although he carefully avoided giving me any information that might
have compromised himself, my importunity was not relaxed; nay, as I
cared more to set forth my doubts than to learn their solution, I grew
constantly more vivacious and bold, seeming justified by his deportment.
Yet I could get nothing out of him, except that ever and anon he would
exclaim with his peculiar, shaking laugh, "Ah! mad fellow! ah! mad boy!"

Still, my childish vivacity, which scrutinized the Bible on all sides,
may have seemed to him tolerably serious and worthy of some assistance.
He therefore referred me, after a time, to the large English biblical
work which stood in his library, and in which the interpretation of
difficult and doubtful passages was attempted in an intelligent and
judicious manner. By the great labors of German divines the translation
had obtained advantages over the original. The different opinions were
cited; and at last a kind of reconciliation was attempted, so that the
dignity of the book, the ground of religion, and the human
understanding, might in some degree co-exist. Now, as often as towards
the end of the lesson I came out with my usual questions and doubts, so
often did he point to the repository. I took the volume, he let me read,
turned over his Lucian; and, when I made any remarks on the book, his
ordinary laugh was the only answer to my sagacity. In the long summer
days he let me sit as long as I could read, many times alone; after a
time he suffered me to take one volume after another home with me.

Man may turn which way he please, and undertake any thing whatsoever, he
will always return to the path which nature has once prescribed for him.
Thus it happened also with me in the present case. The trouble I took
with the language, with the contents of the Sacred Scriptures
themselves, ended at last in producing in my imagination a livelier
picture of that beautiful and famous land, its environs and its
vicinities, as well as of the people and events by which that little
spot of earth was made glorious for thousands of years.

This small space was to see the origin and growth of the human race;
thence we were to derive our first and only accounts of primitive
history; and such a locality was to lie before our imagination, no less
simple and comprehensible than varied, and adapted to the most wonderful
migrations and settlements. Here, between four designated rivers, a
small, delightful spot was separated from the whole habitable earth, for
youthful man. Here he was to unfold his first capacities, and here at
the same time was the lot to befall him, which was appointed for all his
posterity; namely, that of losing peace by striving after knowledge.
Paradise was trifled away; men increased and grew worse; and the Elohim,
not yet accustomed to the wickedness of the new race, became impatient,
and utterly destroyed it. Only a few were saved from the universal
deluge; and scarcely had this dreadful flood ceased, than the well-known
ancestral soil lay once more before the grateful eyes of the preserved.

Two rivers out of four, the Euphrates and Tigris, still flowed in their
beds. The name of the first remained: the other seemed to be pointed out
by its course. Minuter traces of paradise were not to be looked for
after so great a revolution. The renewed race of man went forth hence a
second time: it found occasion to sustain and employ itself in all sorts
of ways, but chiefly to gather around it large herds of tame animals,
and to wander with them in every direction.

This mode of life, as well as the increase of the families, soon
compelled the people to disperse. They could not at once resolve to let
their relatives and friends go forever: they hit upon the thought of
building a lofty tower, which should show them the way back from the far
distance. But this attempt, like their first endeavor, miscarried. They
could not be at the same time happy and wise, numerous and united. The
Elohim confounded their minds; the building remained unfinished; the men
were dispersed; the world was peopled, but sundered.

But our regards, our interests, continue fixed on these regions. At last
the founder of a race again goes forth from hence, and is so fortunate
as to stamp a distinct character upon his descendants, and by that means
to unite them for all time to come into a great nation, inseparable
through all changes of place or destiny.

From the Euphrates, Abraham, not without divine guidance, wanders
towards the west. The desert opposes no invincible barrier to his march.
He attains the Jordan, passes over its waters, and spreads himself over
the fair southern regions of Palestine. This land was already occupied,
and tolerably well inhabited. Mountains, not extremely high, but rocky
and barren, were severed by many watered vales favorable to cultivation.
Towns, villages, and solitary settlements lay scattered over the plain,
and on the slopes of the great valley, the waters of which are collected
in Jordan. Thus inhabited, thus tilled, was the land: but the world was
still large enough; and the men were not so circumspect, necessitous,
and active, as to usurp at once the whole adjacent country. Between
their possessions were extended large spaces, in which grazing herds
could freely move in every direction. In one of these spaces Abraham
resides; his brother Lot is near him: but they cannot long remain in
such places. The very condition of a land, the population of which is
now increasing, now decreasing, and the productions of which are never
kept in equilibrium with the wants, produces unexpectedly a famine; and
the stranger suffers alike with the native, whose own support he has
rendered difficult by his accidental presence. The two Chaldean brothers
move onward to Egypt; and thus is traced out for us the theatre on
which, for some thousands of years, the most important events of the
world were to be enacted. From the Tigris to the Euphrates, from the
Euphrates to the Nile, we see the earth peopled; and this space also is
traversed by a well-known, heaven-beloved man, who has already become
worthy to us, moving to and fro with his goods and cattle, and, in a
short time, abundantly increasing them. The brothers return; but, taught
by the distress they have endured, they determine to part. Both, indeed,
tarry in Southern Canaan; but while Abraham remains at Hebron, near the
wood of Mamre, Lot departs for the valley of Siddim, which, if our
imagination is bold enough to give Jordan a subterranean outlet, so
that, in place of the present Dead Sea, we should have dry ground, can
and must appear like a second Paradise,--a conjecture all the more
probable, because the residents about there, notorious for effeminacy
and wickedness, lead us to infer that they led an easy and luxurious
life. Lot lives among them, but apart.

But Hebron and the wood of Mamre appear to us as the important place
where the Lord speaks with Abraham, and promises him all the land as far
as his eye can reach in four directions. From these quiet districts,
from these shepherd-tribes, who can associate with celestials, entertain
them as guests, and hold many conversations with them, we are compelled
to turn our glance once more towards the East, and to think of the
condition of the surrounding world, which, on the whole, perhaps, may
have been like that of Canaan.

Families hold together: they unite, and the mode of life of the tribes
is determined by the locality which they have appropriated or
appropriate. On the mountains which send down their waters to the
Tigris, we find warlike populations, who even thus early foreshadow
those world-conquerors and world-rulers, and in a campaign, prodigious
for those times, give us a prelude of future achievements. Chedor
Laomer, king of Elam, has already a mighty influence over his allies. He
reigns a long while; for twelve years before Abraham's arrival in
Canaan, he had made all the people tributary to him as far as the
Jordan. They revolted at last, and the allies equipped for war. We find
them unawares upon a route by which, probably, Abraham also reached
Canaan. The people on the left and lower side of the Jordan were
subdued. Chedor Laomer directs his march southwards towards the people
of the Desert; then, wending north, he smites the Amalekites; and, when
he has also overcome the Amorites, he reaches Canaan, falls upon the
kings of the valley of Siddim, smites and scatters them, and marches
with great spoil up the Jordan, in order to extend his conquests as far
as Lebanon.

Among the captives, despoiled, and dragged along with their property, is
Lot, who shares the fate of the country in which he lives a guest.
Abraham learns this, and here at once we behold the patriarch a warrior
and hero. He hurriedly gathers his servants, divides them into troops,
attacks and falls upon the luggage of booty, confuses the victors, who
could not suspect another enemy in the rear, and brings back his brother
and his goods, with a great deal more belonging to the conquered kings.
Abraham, by means of this brief contest, acquires, as it were, the whole
land. To the inhabitants he appears as a protector, savior, and, by his
disinterestedness, a king. Gratefully the kings of the valley receive
him; Melchisedek, the king and priest, with blessings.

Now the prophecies of an endless posterity are renewed; nay, they take a
wider and wider scope. From the waters of the Euphrates to the river of
Egypt all the lands are promised him, but yet there seems a difficulty
with respect to his next heirs. He is eighty years of age, and has no
son. Sarai, less trusting in the heavenly powers than he, becomes
impatient: she desires, after the Oriental fashion, to have a
descendant, by means of her maid. But no sooner is Hagar given up to the
master of the house, no sooner is there hope of a son, than dissensions
arise. The wife treats her own dependant ill enough, and Hagar flies to
seek a happier position among other tribes. She returns, not without a
higher intimation, and Ishmael is born.

Abraham is now ninety-nine years old, and the promises of a numerous
posterity are constantly repeated: so that, in the end, the pair regard
them as ridiculous. And yet Sarai becomes at last pregnant, and brings
forth a son, to whom the name of Isaac is given.

History, for the most part, rests upon the legitimate propagation of the
human race. The most important events of the world require to be traced
to the secrets of families, and thus the marriages of the patriarchs
give occasion for peculiar considerations. It is as if the Divinity, who
loves to guide the destiny of mankind, wished to prefigure here
connubial events of every kind. Abraham, so long united by childless
marriage to a beautiful woman whom many coveted, finds himself, in his
hundredth year, the husband of two women, the father of two sons; and at
this moment his domestic peace is broken. Two women, and two sons by
different mothers, cannot possibly agree. The party less favored by law,
usage, and opinion must yield. Abraham must sacrifice his attachment to
Hagar and Ishmael. Both are dismissed; and Hagar is compelled now,
against her will, to go upon a road which she once took in voluntary
flight, at first, it seems, to the destruction of herself and child; but
the angel of the Lord, who had before sent her back, now rescues her
again, that Ishmael also may become a great people, and that the most
improbable of all promises may be fulfilled beyond its limits.

Two parents in advanced years, and one son of their old age--here, at
last, one might expect domestic quiet and earthly happiness. By no
means. Heaven is yet preparing the heaviest trial for the patriarch. But
of this we cannot speak without premising several considerations.

If a natural universal religion was to arise, and a special revealed one
to be developed from it, the countries in which our imagination has
hitherto lingered, the mode of life, the race of men, were the fittest
for the purpose. At least, we do not find in the whole world any thing
equally favorable and encouraging. Even to natural religion, if we
assume that it arose earlier in the human mind, there pertains much of
delicacy of sentiment; for it rests upon the conviction of an universal
providence, which conducts the order of the world as a whole. A
particular religion, revealed by Heaven to this or that people, carries
with it the belief in a special providence, which the Divine Being
vouchsafes to certain favored men, families, races, and people. This
faith seems to develop itself with difficulty from man's inward nature.
It requires tradition, usage, and the warrant of a primitive time.

Beautiful is it, therefore, that the Israelitish tradition represents
the very first men who confide in this particular providence as heroes
of faith, following all the commands of that high Being on whom they
acknowledge themselves dependent, just as blindly as, undisturbed by
doubts, they are unwearied in awaiting the later fulfilments of his
promises.

As a particular revealed religion rests upon the idea that one man may
be more favored by Heaven than another, so it also arises pre-eminently
from the separation of classes. The first men appeared closely allied,
but their employments soon divided them. The hunter was the freest of
all: from him was developed the warrior and the ruler. Those who tilled
the field bound themselves to the soil, erected dwellings and barns to
preserve what they had gained, and could estimate themselves pretty
highly, because their condition promised durability and security. The
herdsman in his position seemed to have acquired the most unbounded
condition and unlimited property. The increase of herds proceeded
without end, and the space which was to support them widened itself on
all sides. These three classes seemed from the very first to have
regarded each other with dislike and contempt; and as the herdsman was
an abomination to the townsman, so did he in turn separate from the
other. The hunters vanish from our sight among the hills, and reappear
only as conquerors.

The patriarchs belonged to the shepherd class. Their manner of life upon
the ocean of deserts and pastures gave breadth and freedom to their
minds; the vault of heaven, under which they dwelt, with all its nightly
stars, elevated their feelings; and they, more than the active, skilful
huntsman, or the secure, careful, householding husbandman, had need of
the immovable faith that a God walked beside them, visited them, cared
for them, guided and saved them.

We are compelled to make another reflection in passing to the rest of
the history. Humane, beautiful, and cheering as the religion of the
patriarchs appears, yet traits of savageness and cruelty run through it,
out of which man may emerge, or into which he may again be sunk.

That hatred should seek to appease itself by the blood, by the death, of
the conquered enemy, is natural; that men concluded a peace upon the
battle-field among the ranks of the slain may easily be conceived; that
they should in like manner think to give validity to a contract by slain
animals, follows from the preceding. The notion also that slain
creatures could attract, propitiate, and gain over the gods, whom they
always looked upon as partisans, either opponents or allies, is likewise
not at all surprising. But if we confine our attention to the
sacrifices, and consider the way in which they were offered in that
primitive time, we find a singular, and, to our notions, altogether
repugnant, custom, probably derived from the usages of war; viz., that
the sacrificed animals of every kind, and whatever number was devoted,
had to be hewn in two halves, and laid out on two sides: so that in the
space between them were those who wished to make a covenant with the
Deity.

Another dreadful feature wonderfully and portentously pervades that fair
world; namely, that whatever had been consecrated or vowed must die.
This also was probably a usage of war transferred to peace. The
inhabitants of a city which forcibly defends itself are threatened with
such a vow: it is taken by storm or otherwise. Nothing is left alive;
men never: and often women, children, and even cattle, share a similar
fate. Such sacrifices are rashly and superstitiously and with more or
less distinctness promised to the gods; and those whom the votary would
willingly spare, even his nearest of kin, his own children, may thus
bleed, the expiatory victims of such a delusion.

In the mild and truly patriarchal character of Abraham, such a savage
kind of worship could not arise; but the Godhead, [Footnote: It should
be observed, that in this biblical narrative, when we have used the
expressions, "Deity," "Godhead," or "Divinity," Goethe generally has
"die Götter," or "the Gods."--TRANS.] which often, to tempt us, seems to
put forth those qualities which man is inclined to assign to it, imposes
a monstrous task upon him. He must offer up his son as a pledge of the
new covenant, and, if he follows the usage, not only kill and burn him,
but cut him in two, and await between the smoking entrails a new promise
from the benignant Deity. Abraham, blindly and without lingering,
prepares to execute the command: to Heaven the will is sufficient.
Abraham's trials are now at an end, for they could not be carried
farther. But Sarai dies, and this gives Abraham an opportunity for
taking typical possession of the land of Canaan. He requires a grave,
and this is the first time he looks out for a possession in this earth.
He had before this probably sought out a twofold cave by the grove of
Mamre. This he purchases, with the adjacent field; and the legal form
which he observes on the occasion shows how important this possession is
to him. Indeed, it was more so, perhaps, than he himself supposed: for
there he, his sons and his grandsons, were to rest; and by this means
the proximate title to the whole land, as well as the everlasting desire
of his posterity to gather themselves there, was most properly grounded.

From this time forth the manifold incidents of the family life become
varied. Abraham still keeps strictly apart from the inhabitants; and
though Ishmael, the son of an Egyptian woman, has married a daughter of
that land, Isaac is obliged to wed a kinswoman of equal birth with
himself.

Abraham despatches his servant to Mesopotamia, to the relatives whom he
had left behind there. The prudent Eleazer arrives unknown, and, in
order to take home the right bride, tries the readiness to serve of the
girls at the well. He asks to be permitted to drink; and Rebecca,
unasked, waters his camels also. He gives her presents, he demands her
in marriage, and his suit is not rejected. He conducts her to the home
of his lord, and she is wedded to Isaac. In this case, too, issue has to
be long expected. Rebecca is not blessed until after some years of
probation; and the same discord, which, in Abraham's double marriage,
arose through two mothers, here proceeds from one. Two boys of opposite
characters wrestle already in their mother's womb. They come to light,
the elder lively and vigorous, the younger gentle and prudent. The
former becomes the father's, the latter the mother's, favorite. The
strife for precedence, which begins even at birth, is ever going on.
Esau is quiet and indifferent as to the birthright which fate has given
him: Jacob never forgets that his brother forced him back. Watching
every opportunity of gaining the desirable privilege, he buys the
birthright of his brother, and defrauds him of their father's blessing.
Esau is indignant, and vows his brother's death: Jacob flees to seek his
fortune in the land of his forefathers.

Now, for the first time, in so noble a family appears a member who has
no scruple in attaining by prudence and cunning the advantages which
nature and circumstances have denied him. It has often enough been
remarked and expressed, that the Sacred Scriptures by no means intend to
set up any of the patriarchs and other divinely favored men as models of
virtue. They, too, are persons of the most different characters, with
many defects and failings. But there is one leading trait, in which none
of these men after God's own heart can be wanting: that is, unshaken
faith that God has them and their families in his special keeping.

General, natural religion, properly speaking, requires no faith; for the
persuasion that a great producing, regulating, and conducting Being
conceals himself, as it were, behind Nature, to make himself
comprehensible to us--such a conviction forces itself upon every one.
Nay, if we for a moment let drop this thread, which conducts us through
life, it may be immediately and everywhere resumed. But it is different
with a special religion, which announces to us that this Great Being
distinctly and pre-eminently interests himself for one individual, one
family, one people, one country. This religion is founded on faith,
which must be immovable if it would not be instantly destroyed. Every
doubt of such a religion is fatal to it. One may return to conviction,
but not to faith. Hence the endless probation, the delay in the
fulfilment of so often repeated promises, by which the capacity for
faith in those ancestors is set in the clearest light.

It is in this faith also that Jacob begins his expedition; and if, by
his craft and deceit, he has not gained our affections, he wins them by
his lasting and inviolable love for Rachel, whom he himself wooes on the
instant, as Eleazar had courted Rebecca for his father. In him the
promise of a countless people was first to be fully unfolded: he was to
see many sons around him, but through them and their mothers was to
endure manifold sorrows of heart.

Seven years he serves for his beloved, without impatience and without
wavering. His father-in-law, crafty like himself, and disposed, like
him, to consider legitimate this means to an end, deceives him, and so
repays him for what he has done to his brother. Jacob finds in his arms
a wife whom he does not love. Laban, indeed, endeavors to appease him,
by giving him his beloved also after a short time, and this but on the
condition of seven years of further service. Vexation arises out of
vexation. The wife he does not love is fruitful: the beloved one bears
no children. The latter, like Sarai, desires to become a mother through
her handmaiden: the former grudges her even this advantage. She also
presents her husband with a maid, but the good patriarch is now the most
troubled man in the world. He has four women, children by three, and
none from her he loves. Finally she also is favored; and Joseph comes
into the world, the late fruit of the most passionate attachment.
Jacob's fourteen years of service are over; but Laban is unwilling to
part with him, his chief and most trusty servant. They enter into a new
compact, and portion the flocks between them. Laban retains the white
ones, as most numerous: Jacob has to put up with the spotted ones, as
the mere refuse. But he is able here, too, to secure his own advantage:
and as by a paltry mess (/of pottage/) he had procured the
birthright, and, by a disguise, his father's blessing, he manages by art
and sympathy to appropriate to himself the best and largest part of the
herds; and on this side also he becomes the truly worthy progenitor of
the people of Israel, and a model for his descendants. Laban and his
household remark the result, if not the stratagem. Vexation ensues:
Jacob flees with his family and goods, and partly by fortune, partly by
cunning, escapes the pursuit of Laban. Rachel is now about to present
him another son, but dies in the travail; Benjamin, the child of sorrow,
survives her; but the aged father is to experience a still greater
sorrow from the apparent loss of his son Joseph.

Perhaps some one may ask why I have so circumstantially narrated
histories so universally known, and so often repeated and explained. Let
the inquirer be satisfied with the answer, that I could in no other way
exhibit how, with my life full of diversion, and with my desultory
education, I concentrated my mind and feelings in quiet action on one
point; that I was able in no other way to depict the peace that
prevailed about me, even when all without was so wild and strange. When
an ever busy imagination, of which that tale may bear witness, led me
hither and thither; when the medley of fable and history, mythology and
religion, threatened to bewilder me,--I liked to take refuge in those
Oriental regions, to plunge into the first books of Moses, and to find
myself there, amid the scattered shepherd-tribes, at the same time in
the greatest solitude and the greatest society.

These family scenes, before they were to lose themselves in a history of
the Jewish nation, show us now, in conclusion, a form by which the hopes
and fancies of the young in particular are agreeably excited,--Joseph,
the child of the most passionate wedded love. He seems to us tranquil
and clear, and predicts to himself the advantages which are to elevate
him above his family. Cast into misfortune by his brothers, he remains
steadfast and upright in slavery, resists the most dangerous
temptations, rescues himself by prophecy, and is elevated according to
his deserts to high honors. He shows himself first serviceable and
useful to a great kingdom, then to his own kindred. He is like his
ancestor Abraham in repose and greatness, his grandfather Isaac in
silence and devotedness. The talent for traffic, inherited from his
father, he exercises on a large scale. It is no longer flocks which are
gained for himself from a father-in-law, but nations, with all their
possessions, which he knows how to purchase for a king. Extremely
graceful is this natural story, only it appears too short; and one feels
called upon to paint it in detail.

Such a filling-up of biblical characters and events given only in
outline, was no longer strange to the Germans. The personages of both
the Old and New Testaments had received through Klopstock a tender and
affectionate nature, highly pleasing to the boy, as well as to many of
his contemporaries. Of Bodmer's efforts in this line, little or nothing
came to him; but "Daniel in the Lion's Den," by Moser, made a great
impression on the young heart. In that work, a right-minded man of
business, and courtier, arrives at high honors through manifold
tribulations; and the piety for which they threatened to destroy him
became, early and late, his sword and buckler. It had long seemed to me
desirable to work out the history of Joseph; but I could not get on with
the form, particularly as I was conversant with no kind of versification
which would have been adapted to such a work. But now I found a
treatment of it in prose very suitable, and I applied all my strength to
its execution. I now endeavored to discriminate and paint the
characters, and, by the interpolation of incidents and episodes, to make
the old simple history a new and independent work. I did not consider,
what, indeed, youth cannot consider, that subject-matter was necessary
to such a design, and that this could only arise by the perceptions of
experience. Suffice it to say, that I represented to myself all the
incidents down to the minutest details, and narrated them accurately to
myself in their succession.

What greatly lightened this labor was a circumstance which threatened to
render this work, and my authorship in general, exceedingly voluminous.
A well-gifted young man, who, however, had become imbecile from over-
exertion and conceit, resided as a ward in my father's house, lived
quietly with the family, and, if allowed to go on in his usual way, was
contented and agreeable. He had, with great care, written out notes of
his academical course, and acquired a rapid, legible hand. He liked to
employ himself in writing better than in any thing else, and was pleased
when something was given him to copy; but still more when he was
dictated to, because he then felt carried back to his happy academical
years. To my father, who was not expeditious in writing, and whose
German letters were small and tremulous, nothing could be more
desirable; and he was consequently accustomed, in the conduct of his own
and other business, to dictate for some hours a day to this young man. I
found it no less convenient, during the intervals, to see all that
passed through my head fixed upon paper by the hand of another; and my
natural gift of feeling and imitation grew with the facility of catching
up and preserving.

As yet, I had not undertaken any work so large as that biblical prose-
epic. The times were tolerably quiet, and nothing recalled my
imagination from Palestine and Egypt. Thus my manuscripts swelled more
and more every day, as the poem, which I recited to myself, as it were,
in the air, stretched along the paper; and only a few pages from time to
time needed to be re-written.

When the work was done,--for, to my own astonishment, it really came to
an end,--I reflected, that from former years many poems were extant,
which did not even now appear to me utterly despicable, and which, if
written together in the same size with "Joseph," would make a very neat
quarto, to which the title "Miscellaneous Poems" might be given. I was
pleased with this, as it gave me an opportunity of quietly imitating
well-known and celebrated authors. I had composed a good number of so-
called Anacreontic poems, which, on account of the convenience of the
metre, and the lightness of the subject, flowed forth readily enough.
But these I could not well take, as they were not in rhyme; and my
desire before all things was to show my father something that would
please him. So much the more, therefore, did the spiritual odes seem
suitable, which I had very zealously attempted in imitation of the "Last
Judgment" of Elias Schlegel. One of these, written to celebrate the
descent of Christ into hell, received much applause from my parents and
friends, and had the good fortune to please myself for some years
afterwards. The so-called texts of the Sunday church-music, which were
always to be had printed, I studied with diligence. They were, indeed,
very weak; and I could well believe that my verses, of which I had
composed many in the prescribed manner, were equally worthy of being set
to music, and performed for the edification of the congregation. These,
and many like them, I had for more than a year before copied with my own
hand; because through this private exercise I was released from the
copies of the writing-master. Now all were corrected and put in order,
and no great persuasion was needed to have them neatly copied by the
young man who was so fond of writing. I hastened with them to the book-
binder: and when, very soon after, I handed the nice-looking volume to
my father, he encouraged me with peculiar satisfaction to furnish a
similar quarto every year; which he did with the greater conviction, as
I had produced the whole in my spare moments alone.

Another circumstance increased my tendency to these theological, or,
rather, biblical, studies. The senior of the ministry, John Philip
Fresenius, a mild man, of handsome, agreeable appearance, who was
respected by his congregation and the whole city as an exemplary pastor
and good preacher, but who, because he stood forth against the
Herrnhüters, was not in the best odor with the peculiarly pious; while,
on the other hand, he had made himself famous, and almost sacred, with
the multitude, by the conversion of a free-thinking general who had been
mortally wounded,--this man died; and his successor, Plitt, a tall,
handsome, dignified man, who brought from his /chair/ (he had been
a professor in Marburg) the gift of teaching rather than of edifying,
immediately announced a sort of religious course, to which his sermons
were to be devoted in a certain methodical connection. I had already, as
I was compelled to go to church, remarked the distribution of the
subject, and could now and then show myself off by a pretty complete
recitation of a sermon. But now, as much was said in the congregation,
both for and against the new senior, and many placed no great confidence
in his announced didactic sermons, I undertook to write them out more
carefully; and I succeeded the better from having made smaller attempts
in a seat very convenient for hearing, but concealed from sight. I was
extremely attentive and on the alert: the moment he said Amen, I
hastened from church, and spent a couple of hours in rapidly dictating
what I had fixed in my memory and on paper, so that I could hand in the
written sermon before dinner. My father was very proud of this success;
and the good friend of the family, who had just come in to dinner, also
shared in the joy. Indeed, this friend was very well disposed towards
me, because I had made his "Messiah" so much my own, that in my repeated
visits, paid to him with a view of getting impressions of seals for my
collection of coats-of-arms, I could recite long passages from it till
the tears stood in his eyes.

The next Sunday I prosecuted the work with equal zeal; and, as the
mechanical part of it mainly interested me, I did not reflect upon what
I wrote and preserved. During the first quarter these efforts may have
continued pretty much the same; but as I fancied at last, in my self-
conceit, that I found no particular enlightenment as to the Bible, nor
clearer insight into dogmas, the small vanity which was thus gratified
seemed to me too dearly purchased for me to pursue the matter with the
same zeal. The sermons, once so many-leaved, grew more and more lean:
and before long I should have relinquished this labor altogether, if my
father, who was a fast friend to completeness, had not, by words and
promises, induced me to persevere till the last Sunday in Trinity;
though, at the conclusion, scarcely more than the text, the statement,
and the divisions were scribbled on little pieces of paper.

My father was particularly pertinacious on this point of completeness.
What was once undertaken had to be finished, even if the inconvenience,
tedium, vexation, nay, uselessness, of the thing begun were plainly
manifested in the mean time. It seemed as if he regarded completeness as
the only end, and perseverance as the only virtue. If in our family
circle, in the long winter evenings, we had begun to read a book aloud,
we were compelled to finish, though we were all in despair about it, and
my father himself was the first to yawn. I still remember such a winter,
when we had thus to work our way through Bower's "History of the Popes."
It was a terrible time, as little or nothing that occurs in
ecclesiastical affairs can interest children and young people. Still,
with all my inattention and repugnance, so much of that reading remained
in my mind that I was able, in after times, to take up many threads of
the narrative.

Amid all these heterogeneous occupations and labors, which followed each
other so rapidly that one could hardly reflect whether they were
permissible and useful, my father did not lose sight of the main object.
He endeavored to direct my memory and my talent for apprehending and
combining to objects of jurisprudence, and therefore gave me a small
book by Hopp, in the shape of a catechism, and worked up according to
the form and substance of the institutions. I soon learned questions and
answers by heart, and could represent the catechist as well as the
catechumen; and, as in religious instruction at that time, one of the
chief exercises was to find passages in the Bible as readily as
possible; so here a similar acquaintance with the "Corpus Juris" was
found necessary, in which, also, I soon became completely versed. My
father wished me to go on, and the little "Struve" was taken in hand;
but here affairs did not proceed so rapidly. The form of the work was
not so favorable for beginners, that they could help themselves on; nor
was my father's method of illustration so liberal as greatly to interest
me.

Not only by the warlike state in which we lived for some years, but also
by civil life itself, and the perusal of history and romances, was it
made clear to me that there were many cases in which the laws are
silent, and give no help to the individual, who must then see how to get
out of the difficulty by himself. We had now reached the period when,
according to the old routine, we were to learn, besides other things,
fencing and riding, that we might guard our skins upon occasion, and
present no pedantic appearance on horseback. As to the first, the
practice was very agreeable to us; for we had already, long ago,
contrived to make broad-swords out of hazel-sticks, with basket-hilts
neatly woven of willow, to protect the hands. Now we might get real
steel blades, and the clash we made with them was very merry.

There were two fencing-masters in the city: an old, earnest German, who
went to work in a severe and solid style; and a Frenchman, who sought to
gain his advantage by advancing and retreating, and by light, fugitive
thrusts, which he always accompanied by cries. Opinions varied as to
whose manner was the best. The little company with which I was to take
lessons sided with the Frenchman; and we speedily accustomed ourselves
to move backwards and forwards, make passes and recover, always breaking
out into the usual exclamations. But several of our acquaintance had
gone to the German teacher, and practised precisely the opposite. These
distinct modes of treating so important an exercise, the conviction of
each that his master was the best, really caused a dissension among the
young people, who were of about the same age: and the fencing-schools
occasioned serious battles, for there was almost as much fighting with
words as with swords; and, to decide the matter in the end, a trial of
skill between the two teachers was arranged, the consequences of which I
need not circumstantially describe. The German stood in his position
like a wall, watched his opportunity, and contrived to disarm his
opponent over and over again with his cut and thrust. The latter
maintained that this mattered not, and proceeded to exhaust the other's
wind by his agility. He fetched the German several lunges too, which,
however, if they had been in earnest, would have sent him into the next
world.

On the whole, nothing was decided or improved, except that some went
over to our countryman, of whom I was one. But I had already acquired
too much from the first master; and hence a considerable time elapsed
before the new one could break me of it, who was altogether less
satisfied with us renegades than with his original pupils.

With riding I fared still worse. It happened that they sent me to the
course in the autumn, so that I commenced in the cool and damp season.
The pedantic treatment of this noble art was highly repugnant to me.
From first to last, the whole talk was about sitting the horse: and yet
no one could say in what a proper sitting consisted, though all depended
on that; for they went to and fro on the horse without stirrups.
Moreover, the instruction seemed contrived only for cheating and
degrading the scholars. If one forgot to hook or loosen the curb-chain,
or let his switch fall down, or even his hat,--every delay, every
misfortune, had to be atoned for by money; and one was laughed at into
the bargain. This put me in the worst of humors, particularly as I found
the place of exercise itself quite intolerable. The wide, nasty space,
either wet or dusty, the cold, the mouldy smell, all together was in the
highest degree repugnant to me; and since the stable-master always gave
the others the best and me the worst horses to ride,--perhaps because
they bribed him by breakfasts and other gifts, or even by their own
cleverness; since he kept me waiting, and, as it seemed, slighted me,--I
spent the most disagreeable hours in an employment that ought to have
been the most pleasant in the world. Nay, the impression of that time
and of these circumstances has remained with me so vividly, that
although I afterwards became a passionate and daring rider, and for days
and weeks together scarcely got off my horse, I carefully shunned
covered riding-courses, and at least passed only a few moments in them.
The case often happens, that, when the elements of an exclusive art are
taught us, this is done in a painful and revolting manner. The
conviction that this is both wearisome and injurious has given rise, in
later times, to the educational maxim, that the young must be taught
every thing in an easy, cheerful, and agreeable way: from which,
however, other evils and disadvantages have proceeded.

With the approach of spring, times became again more quiet with us; and
if in earlier days I had endeavored to obtain a sight of the city, its
ecclesiastical, civil, public, and private structures, and especially
found great delight in the still prevailing antiquities, I afterwards
endeavored, by means of "Lersner's Chronicle," and other Frankfortian
books and pamphlets belonging to my father, to revive the persons of
past times. This seemed to me to be well attained by great attention to
the peculiarities of times and manners and of distinguished individuals.

Among the ancient remains, that which, from my childhood, had been
remarkable to me, was the skull of a State criminal, fastened up on the
tower of the bridge, who, out of three or four, as the naked iron spikes
showed, had, since 1616, been preserved in spite of the encroachments of
time and weather. Whenever one returned from Sachsenhausen to Frankfort,
one had this tower before one; and the skull was directly in view. As a
boy, I liked to hear related the history of these rebels,--Fettmilch and
his confederates,--how they had become dissatisfied with the government
of the city, had risen up against it, plotted a mutiny, plundered the
Jews' quarter, and excited a fearful riot, but were at last captured,
and condemned to death by a deputy of the emperor. Afterwards I felt
anxious to know the most minute circumstance, and to hear what sort of
people they were. When from an old contemporary book, ornamented with
wood-cuts, I learned, that, while these men had indeed been condemned to
death, many councillors had at the same time been deposed, because
various kinds of disorder and very much that was unwarrantable was then
going on; when I heard the nearer particulars how all took place,--I
pitied the unfortunate persons who might be regarded as sacrifices made
for a future better constitution. For from that time was dated the
regulation which allows the noble old house of Limpurg, the Frauenstein-
house, sprung from a club, besides lawyers, trades-people, and artisans,
to take part in a government, which, completed by a system of ballot,
complicated in the Venetian fashion, and restricted by the civil
colleges, was called to do right, without acquiring any special
privilege to do wrong.

Among the things which excited the misgivings of the boy, and even of
the youth, was especially the state of the Jewish quarter of the city
(/Judenstadt/), properly called the Jew Street (/Judengasse/);
as it consisted of little more than a single street, which in early
times may have been hemmed in between the walls and trenches of the
town, as in a prison (/Zwinger/). The closeness, the filth, the
crowd, the accent of an unpleasant language, altogether made a most
disagreeable impression, even if one only looked in as one passed the
gate. It was long before I ventured in alone; and I did not return there
readily, when I had once escaped the importunities of so many men
unwearied in demanding and offering to traffic. At the same time, the
old legends of the cruelty of the Jews towards Christian children, which
we had seen hideously illustrated in "Gottfried's Chronicle," hovered
gloomily before my young mind. And although they were thought better of
in modern times, the large caricature, still to be seen, to their
disgrace, on an arched wall under the bridge-tower, bore extraordinary
witness against them; for it had been made, not through private ill-
will, but by public order.

However, they still remained the chosen people of God, and passed, no
matter how it came about, as a memorial of the most ancient times.
Besides, they also were men, active and obliging; and, even to the
tenacity with which they clung to their peculiar customs, one could not
refuse one's respect. The girls, moreover, were pretty, and were far
from displeased when a Christian lad, meeting them on the sabbath in the
Fischerfeld, showed himself kindly and attentive. I was consequently
extremely curious to become acquainted with their ceremonies. I did not
desist until I had frequently visited their school, had assisted at a
circumcision and a wedding, and formed a notion of the Feast of the
Tabernacles. Everywhere I was well received, pleasantly entertained, and
invited to come again; for it was through persons of influence that I
had been either introduced or recommended.

Thus, as a young resident in a large city, I was thrown about from one
object to another; and horrible scenes were not wanting in the midst of
the municipal quiet and security. Sometimes a more or less remote fire
aroused us from our domestic peace: sometimes the discovery of a great
crime, with its investigation and punishment, set the whole city in an
uproar for many weeks. We were forced to be witnesses of different
executions; and it is worth remembering, that I was also once present at
the burning of a book. The publication was a French comic romance, which
indeed spared the State, but not religion and manners. There was really
something dreadful in seeing punishment inflicted on a lifeless thing.
The packages burst asunder in the fire, and were raked apart by an oven-
fork, to be brought in closer contact with the flames. It was not long
before the kindled sheets were wafted about in the air, and the crowd
caught at them with eagerness. Nor could we rest until we had hunted up
a copy, while not a few managed likewise to procure the forbidden
pleasure. Nay, if it had been done to give the author publicity, he
could not himself have made a more effectual provision.

But there were also more peaceable inducements which took me about in
every part of the city. My father had early accustomed me to manage for
him his little affairs of business. He charged me particularly to stir
up the laborers whom he set to work, as they commonly kept him waiting
longer than was proper; because he wished every thing done accurately,
and was used in the end to lower the price for a prompt payment. In this
way, I gained access to all the workshops: and as it was natural to me
to enter into the condition of others, to feel every species of human
existence, and sympathize in it with pleasure, these commissions were to
me the occasion of many most delightful hours; and I learned to know
every one's method of proceeding, and what joy and sorrow, what
advantages and hardships, were incident to the indispensable conditions
of this or that mode of life. I was thus brought nearer to that active
class which connects the lower and upper classes. For if on the one side
stand those who are employed in the simple and rude products, and on the
other those who desire to enjoy something that has been already worked
up, the manufacturer, with his skill and hand, is the mediator through
whom the other two receive something from each other: each is enabled to
gratify his wishes in his own way. The household economy of many crafts,
which took its form and color from the occupation, was likewise an
object of my quiet attention; and thus was developed and strengthened in
me the feeling of the equality, if not of all men, yet of all human
conditions,--the mere fact of existence seeming to me the main point,
and all the rest indifferent and accidental.

As my father did not readily permit himself an expense which would be
consumed at once in some momentary enjoyment,--as I can scarcely call to
mind that we ever took a walk together, and spent any thing in a place
of amusement,--he was, on the other hand, not niggardly in procuring
such things as had a good external appearance in addition to inward
value. No one could desire peace more than he, although he had not felt
the smallest inconvenience during the last days of the war. With this
feeling, he had promised my mother a gold snuff-box, set with diamonds,
which she was to receive as soon as peace should be publicly declared.
In the expectation of the happy event, they had labored now for some
years on this present. The box, which was tolerably large, had been
executed in Hanau; for my father was on good terms with the gold-workers
there, as well as with the heads of the silk establishments. Many
designs were made for it: the cover was adorned by a basket of flowers,
over which hovered a dove with the olive-branch. A vacant space was left
for the jewels, which were to be set partly in the dove and partly on
the spot where the box is usually opened. The jeweller, to whom the
execution and the requisite stones were intrusted, was named Lautensak,
and was a brisk, skilful man, who, like many artists, seldom did what
was necessary, but usually works of caprice, which gave him pleasure.
The jewels were very soon set, in the shape in which they were to be put
upon the box, on some black wax, and looked very well; but they would
not come off to be transferred to the gold. In the outset, my father let
the matter rest: but as the hope of peace became livelier, and finally
when the stipulations,--particularly the elevation of the Archduke
Joseph to the Roman throne,--seemed more precisely known, he grew more
and more impatient; and I had to go several times a week, nay, at last,
almost daily, to visit the tardy artist. Owing to my unremitted teasing
and exhortation, the work went on, though slowly enough; for, as it was
of that kind which can be taken in hand or laid aside at will, there was
always something by which it was thrust out of the way, and put aside.

The chief cause of this conduct, however, was a task which the artist
had undertaken on his own account. Everybody knew that the Emperor
Francis cherished a strong liking for jewels, and especially for colored
stones. Lautensak had expended a considerable sum, and, as it afterwards
turned out, larger than his means, on such gems, out of which he had
begun to shape a nosegay, in which every stone was to be tastefully
disposed, according to its shape and color, and the whole form a work of
art worthy to stand in the treasure-vaults of an emperor. He had, in his
desultory way, labored at it for many years, and now hastened--because
after the hoped-for peace the arrival of the emperor, for the coronation
of his son, was expected in Frankfort--to complete it and finally to put
it together. My desire to become acquainted with such things he used
very dexterously to divert my attention by sending me forth as his dun,
and to turn me away from my intention. He strove to impart a knowledge
of these stones to me, and made me attentive to their properties and
value; so that in the end I knew his whole bouquet by heart, and quite
as well as he could have demonstrated its virtues to a customer. It is
even now present to my mind; and I have since seen more costly, but not
more graceful, specimens of show and magnificence in this sort. He
possessed, moreover, a pretty collection of engravings, and other works
of art, with which he liked to amuse himself; and I passed many hours
with him, not without profit. Finally, when the Congress of Hubertsburg
was finally fixed, he did for my sake more than was due; and the dove
and flowers actually reached my mother's hands on the festival in
celebration of the peace.

I then received also many similar commissions to urge on painters with
respect to pictures which had been ordered. My father had confirmed
himself in the notion--and few men were free from it--that a picture
painted on wood was greatly to be preferred to one that was merely put
on canvas. It was therefore his great care to possess good oak boards,
of every shape; because he well knew that just on this important point
the more careless artists trusted to the joiners. The oldest planks were
hunted up, the joiners were obliged to go accurately to work with
gluing, painting, and arranging; and they were then kept for years in an
upper room, where they could be sufficiently dried. A precious board of
this kind was intrusted to the painter Junker, who was to represent on
it an ornamental flower-pot, with the most important flowers drawn after
nature in his artistic and elegant manner. It was just about the spring-
time; and I did not fail to take him several times a week the most
beautiful flowers that fell in my way, which he immediately put in, and
by degrees composed the whole out of these elements with the utmost care
and fidelity. On one occasion I had caught a mouse, which I took to him,
and which he desired to copy as a very pretty animal; nay, really
represented it, as accurately as possible, gnawing an ear of corn at the
foot of the flower-pot. Many such inoffensive natural objects, such as
butterflies and chafers, were brought in and represented; so that
finally, as far as imitation and execution were concerned, a highly
valuable picture was put together.

Hence I was not a little astonished when the good man formally declared
one day, when the work was just about to be delivered, that the picture
no longer pleased him,--since, while it had turned out quite well in its
details, it was not well composed as a whole, because it had been
produced in this gradual manner; and he had committed a blunder at the
outset, in not at least devising a general plan for light and shade, as
well as for color, according to which the single flowers might have been
arranged. He scrutinized, in my presence, the minutest parts of the
picture, which had arisen before my eyes during six months, and had
pleased me in many respects, and, much to my regret, managed to
thoroughly convince me. Even the copy of the mouse he regarded as a
mistake; for many persons, he said, have a sort of horror of such
animals: and they should not be introduced where the object is to excite
pleasure. As it commonly happens with those who are cured of a
prejudice, and think themselves much more knowing than they were before,
I now had a real contempt for this work of art, and agreed perfectly
with the artist when he caused to be prepared another tablet of the same
size, on which, according to his taste, he painted a better-formed
vessel and a more artistically arranged nosegay, and also managed to
select and distribute the little living accessories in an ornamental and
agreeable way. This tablet also he painted with the greatest care,
though altogether after the former copied one, or from memory, which,
through a very long and assiduous practice, came to his aid. Both
paintings were now ready; and we were thoroughly delighted with the
last, which was certainly the more artistic and striking of the two. My
father was surprised with two pictures instead of one, and to him the
choice was left. He approved of our opinion, and of the reasons for it,
and especially of our good will and activity; but, after considering
both pictures some days, decided in favor of the first, without saying
much about the motives of his choice. The artist, in an ill humor, took
back his second well-meant picture, and could not refrain from the
remark that the good oaken tablet on which the first was painted had
certainly had its effect on my father's decision.

Now that I am again speaking of painting, I am reminded of a large
establishment, where I passed much time, because both it and its
managers especially attracted me. It was the great oil-cloth factory
which the painter Nothnagel had erected,--an expert artist, but one who
by his mode of thought inclined more to manufacture than to art. In a
very large space of courts and gardens, all sorts of oil-cloths were
made, from the coarsest, that are spread with a trowel, and used for
baggage-wagons and similar purposes, and the carpets impressed with
figures, to the finer and the finest, on which sometimes Chinese and
grotesque, sometimes natural flowers, sometimes figures, sometimes
landscapes, were represented by the pencils of accomplished workmen.
This multiplicity, to which there was no end, amused me vastly. The
occupation of so many men, from the commonest labor to that in which a
certain artistic worth could not be denied, was to me extremely
attractive. I made the acquaintance of this multitude of younger and
older men, working in several rooms one behind the other, and
occasionally lent a hand myself. The sale of these commodities was
extraordinarily brisk. Whoever at that time was building or furnishing a
house, wished to provide for his lifetime; and this oil-cloth carpeting
was certainly quite indestructible. Nothnagel had enough to do in
managing the whole, and sat in his office surrounded by factors and
clerks. The remainder of his time he employed in his collection of works
of art, consisting chiefly of engravings, in which, as well as in the
pictures he possessed, he traded occasionally. At the same time he had
acquired a taste for etching: he etched a variety of plates, and
prosecuted this branch of art even into his latest years.

As his dwelling lay near the Eschenheim gate, my way when I had visited
him led me out of the city to some pieces of ground which my father
owned beyond the gates. One was a large orchard, the soil of which was
used as a meadow, and in which my father carefully attended the
transplanting of trees, and whatever else pertained to their
preservation; though the ground itself was leased. Still more occupation
was furnished by a very well-preserved vineyard beyond the Friedberg
gate, where, between the rows of vines, rows of asparagus were planted
and tended with great care. Scarcely a day passed in the fine season in
which my father did not go there; and as on these occasions we might
generally accompany him, we were provided with joy and delight from the
earliest productions of spring to the last of autumn. We now also
acquired a knowledge of gardening matters, which, as they were repeated
every year, became in the end perfectly known and familiar to us. But,
after the manifold fruits of summer and autumn, the vintage at last was
the most lively and the most desirable; nay, there is no question, that
as wine gives a freer character to the very places and districts where
it is grown and drunk, so also do these vintage-days, while they close
summer and at the same time open the winter, diffuse an incredible
cheerfulness. Joy and jubilation pervade a whole district. In the
daytime, huzzas and shoutings are heard from every end and corner; and
at night rockets and fire-balls, now here, now there, announce that the
people, everywhere awake and lively, would willingly make this festival
last as long as possible. The subsequent labor at the wine-press, and
during the fermentation in the cellar, gave us also a cheerful
employment at home; and thus we ordinarily reached winter without being
properly aware of it.

These rural possessions delighted us so much the more in the spring of
1763, as the 15th of February in that year was celebrated as a festival
day, on account of the conclusion of the Hubertsberg peace, under the
happy results of which the greater part of my life was to flow away.
But, before I go farther, I think I am bound to mention some men who
exerted an important influence on my youth.

Von Olenschlager, a member of the Frauenstein family, a Schöff, and son-
in-law of the above-mentioned Dr. Orth, a handsome, comfortable,
sanguine man. In his official holiday costume he could well have
personated the most important French prelate. After his academical
course, he had employed himself in political and state affairs, and
directed even his travels to that end. He greatly esteemed me, and often
conversed with me on matters which chiefly interested him. I was with
him when he wrote his "Illustration of the Golden Bull," when he managed
to explain to me very clearly the worth and dignity of that document. My
imagination was led back by it to those wild and unquiet times; so that
I could not forbear representing what he related historically, as if it
were present, by pictures of characters and circumstances, and often by
mimicry. In this he took great delight, and by his applause excited me
to repetition.

I had from childhood the singular habit of always learning by heart the
beginnings of books, and the divisions of a work, first of the five
books of Moses, and then of the "Aeneid" and Ovid's "Metamorphoses." I
now did the same thing with the "Golden Bull," and often provoked my
patron to a smile, when I quite seriously and unexpectedly exclaimed,
"/Omne regnum in se divisum desolabitur; nam principes ejus facti sunt
socii furum./" [Footnote: Every kingdom divided against itself shall
be brought to desolation, for the princes thereof have become the
associates of robbers.--TRANS.] The knowing man shook his head, smiling,
and said doubtingly, "What times those must have been, when, at a grand
diet, the emperor had such words published in the face of his princes!"

There was a great charm in Von Olenschlager's society. He received
little company, but was strongly inclined to intellectual amusement, and
induced us young people from time to time to perform a play; for such
exercises were deemed particularly useful to the young. We acted
"Canute" by Schlegel, in which the part of the king was assigned to me,
Elfrida to my sister, and Ulfo to the younger son of the family. We then
ventured on the "Britannicus;" [Footnote: Racine's tragedy.--TRANS.]
for, besides our dramatic talents, we were to bring the language into
practice. I took Nero, my sister Agrippina, and the younger son
Britannicus. We were more praised than we deserved, and fancied we had
done it even beyond the amount of praise. Thus I stood on the best terms
with this family, and have been indebted to them for many pleasures and
a speedier development.

Von Reineck, of an old patrician family, able, honest, but stubborn, a
meagre, swarthy man, whom I never saw smile. The misfortune befell him
that his only daughter was carried off by a friend of the family. He
pursued his son-in-law with the most vehement prosecution: and because
the tribunals, with their formality, were neither speedy nor sharp
enough to gratify his desire of vengeance, he fell out with them; and
there arose quarrel after quarrel, suit after suit. He retired
completely into his own house and its adjacent garden, lived in a
spacious but melancholy lower room, into which for many years no brush
of a whitewasher, and perhaps scarcely the broom of a maid-servant, had
found its way. He was very fond of me, and had especially commended to
me his younger son. He many times asked his oldest friends, who knew how
to humor him, his men of business and agents, to dine with him, and on
these occasions never omitted inviting me. There was good eating and
better drinking at his house. But a large stove, that let out the smoke
from many cracks, caused his guests the greatest pain. One of the most
intimate of these once ventured to remark upon this, by asking the host
whether he could put up with such an inconvenience all the winter. He
answered, like a second Timon or Heautontimoroumenos, "Would to God this
was the greatest evil of those which torment me!" It was long before he
allowed himself to be persuaded to see his daughter and grandson. The
son-in-law never again dared to come into his presence.

On this excellent but unfortunate man my visits had a very favorable
effect; for while he liked to converse with me, and particularly
instructed me on world and state affairs, he seemed to feel himself
relieved and cheered. The few old friends who still gathered round him,
often, therefore, made use of me when they wished to soften his peevish
humor, and persuade him to any diversion. He now really rode out with us
many times, and again contemplated the country, on which he had not cast
an eye for so many years. He called to mind the old landowners, and told
stories of their characters and actions, in which he showed himself
always severe, but often cheerful and witty. We now tried also to bring
him again among other men, which, however, nearly turned out badly.

About the same age, if indeed not older, was one Herr Von Malapert, a
rich man, who possessed a very handsome house by the horse-market, and
derived a good income from salt-pits. He also lived quite secluded; but
in summer he was a great deal in his garden, near the Bockenheim gate,
where he watched and tended a very fine plot of pinks.

Von Reineck was likewise an amateur of pinks: the season of flowering
had come, and suggestions were made as to whether these two could not
visit each other. We introduced the matter, and persisted in it; till at
last Von Reineck resolved to go out with us one Sunday afternoon. The
greeting of the two old gentlemen was very laconic, indeed almost
pantomimic; and they walked up and down by the long pink frames with
true diplomatic strides. The display was really extraordinarily
beautiful: and the particular forms and colors of the different flowers,
the advantages of one over the other, and their rarity, gave at last
occasion to a sort of conversation which appeared to get quite friendly;
at which we others rejoiced the more because we saw the most precious
old Rhine wine in cut decanters, fine fruits, and other good things
spread upon a table in a neighboring bower. But these, alas! we were not
to enjoy. For Von Reineck unfortunately saw a very fine pink with its
head somewhat hanging down: he therefore took the stalk near the calyx
very cautiously between his fore and middle fingers, and lifted the
flower so that he could well inspect it. But even this gentle handling
vexed the owner. Von Malapert courteously, indeed, but stiffly enough,
and somewhat self-complacently, reminded him of the /Oculis, non
manibus/.[Footnote: Eyes, not hands.--TRANS.] Von Reineck had already
let go the flower, but at once took fire at the words, and said in his
usual dry, serious manner, that it was quite consistent with an amateur
to touch and examine them in such a manner. Whereupon he repeated the
act, and took the flower again between his fingers. The friends of both
parties--for Von Malapert also had one present--were now in the greatest
perplexity. They set one hare to catch another (that was our proverbial
expression, when a conversation was to be interrupted, and turned to
another subject), but it would not do; the old gentleman had become
quite silent: and we feared every moment that Von Reineck would repeat
the act, when it would be all over with us. The two friends kept their
principals apart by occupying them, now here, now there, and at last we
found it most expedient to make preparation for departure. Thus, alas!
we were forced to turn our backs on the inviting side-board, yet
unenjoyed.

Hofrath Huesgen, not born in Frankfort, of the Reformed [Footnote: That
is to say, he was a Calvinist, as distinguished from a Lutheran.--
TRANS.] religion, and therefore incapable of public office, including
the profession of advocate, which, however, because much confidence was
placed in him as an excellent jurist, he managed to exercise quietly,
both in the Frankfort and the imperial courts, under assumed signatures,
was already sixty years old when I took writing-lessons with his son,
and so came into his house. His figure was tall without being thin, and
broad without corpulency. You could not look, for the first time, on his
face, which was not only disfigured by small-pox, but deprived of an
eye, without apprehension. He always wore on his bald head a perfectly
white bell-shaped cap, tied at the top with a ribbon. His morning-gowns,
of calamanco or damask, were always very clean. He dwelt in a very
cheerful suite of rooms on the ground-floor by the /Allée/, and the
neatness of every thing about him corresponded with this cheerfulness.
The perfect arrangement of his papers, books, and maps produced a
favorable impression. His son, Heinrich Sebastian, afterwards known by
various writings on art, gave little promise in his youth. Good-natured
but dull, not rude but blunt, and without any special liking for
instruction, he rather sought to avoid the presence of his father, as he
could get all he wanted from his mother. I, on the other hand, grew more
and more intimate with the old man, the more I knew of him. As he
attended only to important cases, he had time enough to occupy and amuse
himself in another manner. I had not long frequented his house, and
heard his doctrines, before I could well perceive that he stood in
opposition to God and the world. One of his favorite books was "Agrippa
de Vanitate Scientiarum," which he especially commended to me, and so
set my young brains in a considerable whirl for a long time. In the
happiness of youth I was inclined to a sort of optimism, and had again
pretty well reconciled myself with God or the gods; for the experience
of a series of years had taught me that there was much to counterbalance
evil, that one can well recover from misfortune, and that one may be
saved from dangers and need not always break one's neck. I looked with
tolerance, too, on what men did and pursued, and found many things
worthy of praise which my old gentleman could not by any means abide.
Indeed, once when he had sketched the world to me, rather from the
distorted side, I observed from his appearance that he meant to close
the game with an important trump-card. He shut tight his blind left eye,
as he was wont to do in such cases, looked sharp out of the other, and
said in a nasal voice, "Even in God I discover defects."

My Timonic mentor was also a mathematician; but his practical turn drove
him to mechanics, though he did not work himself. A clock, wonderful
indeed in those days, which indicated, not only the days and hours, but
the motions of the sun and moon, he caused to be made according to his
own plan. On Sunday, about ten o'clock in the morning, he always wound
it up himself; which he could do the more regularly, as he never went to
church. I never saw company nor guests at his house; and only twice in
ten years do I remember to have seen him dressed, and walking out of
doors.

My various conversations with these men were not insignificant, and each
of them influenced me in his own way. From every one I had as much
attention as his own children, if not more; and each strove to increase
his delight in me as in a beloved son, while he aspired to mould me into
his moral counterpart. Olenschlager would have made me a courtier, Von
Reineck a diplomatic man of business: both, the latter particularly,
sought to disgust me with poetry and authorship. Huisgen wished me to be
a Timon after his fashion, but, at the same time, an able jurisconsult,
--a necessary profession, as he thought, with which one could, in a
regular manner, defend one's self and friends against the rabble of
mankind, succor the oppressed, and, above all, pay off a rogue; though
the last is neither especially practicable nor advisable.

But if I liked to be at the side of these men to profit by their
counsels and directions, younger persons, only a little older than
myself, roused me to immediate emulation. I name here, before all
others, the brothers Schlosser and Griesbach. But as, subsequently,
there arose between us greater intimacy, which lasted for many years
uninterruptedly, I will only say, for the present, that they were then
praised as being distinguished in languages, and other studies which
opened the academical course, and held up as models, and that everybody
cherished the certain expectation that they would once do something
uncommon in church and state.

With respect to myself, I also had it in my mind to produce something
extraordinary; but in what it was to consist was not clear. But as we
are apt to look rather to the reward which may be received than to the
merit which is to be acquired; so, I do not deny, that if I thought of a
desirable piece of good fortune, it appeared to me most fascinating in
the shape of that laurel garland which is woven to adorn the poet.



 FIFTH BOOK.

Every bird has its decoy, and every man is led and misled in a way
peculiar to himself. Nature, education, circumstances, and habit kept me
apart from all that was rude; and though I often came into contact with
the lower classes of people, particularly mechanics, no close connection
grew out of it. I had indeed boldness enough to undertake something
uncommon and perhaps dangerous, and many times felt disposed to do so;
but I was without the handle by which to grasp and hold it.

Meanwhile I was quite unexpectedly involved in an affair which brought
me near to a great hazard, and at least for a long time into perplexity
and distress. The good terms on which I before stood with the boy whom I
have already named Pylades was maintained up to the time of my youth. We
indeed saw each other less often, because our parents did not stand on
the best footing with each other; but, when we did meet, the old
raptures of friendship broke out immediately. Once we met in the alleys
which offer a very agreeable walk between the outer and inner gate of
Saint Gallus. We had scarcely returned greetings when he said to me, "I
hold to the same opinion as ever about your verses. Those which you
recently communicated to me, I read aloud to some pleasant companions;
and not one of them will believe that you have made them."--"Let it
pass," I answered: "we will make and enjoy them, and the others may
think and say of them what they please."

"There comes the unbeliever now," added my friend. "We will not speak of
it," I replied: "what is the use of it? one cannot convert them."--"By
no means," said my friend: "I cannot let the affair pass off in this
way."

After a short, insignificant conversation, my young comrade, who was but
too well disposed towards me, could not suffer the matter to drop,
without saying to the other, with some resentment, "Here is my friend
who made those pretty verses, for which you will not give him credit!"--
"He will certainly not take it amiss," answered the other; "for we do
him an honor when we suppose that more learning is required to make such
verses than one of his years can possess." I replied with something
indifferent; but my friend continued, "It will not cost much labor to
convince you. Give him any theme, and he will make you a poem on the
spot." I assented; we were agreed; and the other asked me whether I
would venture to compose a pretty love-letter in rhyme, which a modest
young woman might be supposed to write to a young man, to declare her
inclination. "Nothing is easier than that," I answered, "if I only had
writing materials." He pulled out his pocket almanac, in which there
were a great many blank leaves; and I sat down upon a bench to write.
They walked about in the mean while, but always kept me in sight. I
immediately brought the required situation before my mind, and thought
how agreeable it must be if some pretty girl were really attached to me,
and would reveal her sentiments to me, either in prose or verse. I
therefore began my declaration with delight, and in a little while
executed it in a flowing measure, between doggerel and madrigal, with
the greatest possible /naiveté/, and in such a way that the sceptic
was overcome with admiration, and my friend with delight. The request of
the former to possess the poem I could the less refuse, as it was
written in his almanac; and I liked to see the documentary evidence of
my capabilities in his hands. He departed with many assurances of
admiration and respect, and wished for nothing more than that we should
often meet; so we settled soon to go together into the country.

Our excursion actually took place, and was joined by several more young
people of the same rank. They were men of the middle, or, if you please,
of the lower, class, who were not wanting in brains, and who, moreover,
as they had gone through school, were possessed of various knowledge and
a certain degree of culture. In a large, rich city, there are many modes
of gaining a livelihood. These eked out a living by copying for the
lawyers, and by advancing the children of the lower order more than is
usual in common schools. With grown-up children, who were about to be
confirmed, they went through the religious courses; then, again, they
assisted factors and merchants in some way, and were thus enabled to
enjoy themselves frugally in the evenings, and particularly on Sundays
and festivals.

On the way there, while they highly extolled my love-letter, they
confessed to me that they had made a very merry use of it; viz., that it
had been copied in a feigned hand, and, with a few pertinent allusions,
had been sent to a conceited young man, who was now firmly persuaded
that a lady to whom he had paid distant court was excessively enamored
of him, and sought an opportunity for closer acquaintance. They at the
same time told me in confidence, that he desired nothing more now than
to be able to answer her in verse; but that neither he nor they were
skilful enough, so that they earnestly solicited me to compose the much-
desired reply.

Mystifications are and will continue to be an amusement for idle people,
whether more or less ingenious. A venial wickedness, a self-complacent
malice, is an enjoyment for those who have neither resources in
themselves nor a wholesome external activity. No age is quite exempt
from such pruriences. We had often tricked each other in our childish
years: many sports turn upon mystification and trick. The present jest
did not seem to me to go farther: I gave my consent. They imparted to me
many particulars which the letter ought to contain, and we brought it
home already finished.

A little while afterwards I was urgently invited, through my friend, to
take part in one of the evening-feasts of that society. The lover, he
said, was willing to bear the expense on this occasion, and desired
expressly to thank the friend who had shown himself so excellent a
poetical secretary.

We came together late enough, the meal was most frugal, the wine
drinkable; while, as for the conversation, it turned almost entirely on
jokes upon the young man, who was present, and certainly not very
bright, and who, after repeated readings of the letter, almost believed
that he had written it himself.

My natural good nature would not allow me to take much pleasure in such
a malicious deception, and the repetition of the same subject soon
disgusted me. I should certainly have passed a tedious evening, if an
unexpected apparition had not revived me. On our arrival we found the
table already neatly and orderly set, and sufficient wine served on it:
we sat down and remained alone, without requiring further service. As
there was, however, a scarcity of wine at last, one of them called for
the maid; but, instead of the maid, there came in a girl of uncommon,
and, when one saw her with all around her, of incredible, beauty. "What
do you desire?" she asked, after having cordially wished us a good-
evening: "the maid is ill in bed. Can I serve you?"--"The wine is out,"
said one: "if you would fetch us a few bottles, it would be very kind."--
"Do it, Gretchen," [Footnote: The diminutive of Margaret.--TRANS.] said
another: "it is but a cat's leap from here."--"Why not?" she answered;
and, taking a few empty bottles from the table, she hastened out. Her
form, as seen from behind, was almost more elegant. The little cap sat
so neatly upon her little head, which a slender throat united very
gracefully to her neck and shoulders. Every thing about her seemed
choice; and one could survey her whole form the more at ease, as one's
attention was no more exclusively attracted and fettered by the quiet,
honest eyes and lovely mouth. I reproved my comrades for sending the
girl out alone at night, but they only laughed at me; and I was soon
consoled by her return, as the publican lived only just across the way.
"Sit down with us, in return," said one. She did so; but, alas! she did
not come near me. She drank a glass to our health, and speedily
departed, advising us not to stay very long together, and not to be so
noisy, as her mother was just going to bed. It was not, however, her own
mother, but the mother of our hosts.

The form of that girl followed me from that moment on every path; it was
the first durable impression which a female being had made upon me: and
as I could find no pretext to see her at home, and would not seek one, I
went to church for love of her, and had soon traced out where she sat.
Thus, during the long Protestant service, I gazed my fill at her. When
the congregation left the church, I did not venture to accost her, much
less to accompany her, and was perfectly delighted if she seemed to have
remarked me and to have returned my greeting with a nod. Yet I was not
long denied the happiness of approaching her. They had persuaded the
lover, whose poetical secretary I had been, that the letter written in
his name had been actually despatched to the lady, and had strained to
the utmost his expectations that an answer must come soon. This, also, I
was to write; and the waggish company entreated me earnestly, through
Pylades, to exert all my wit and employ all my art, in order that this
piece might be quite elegant and perfect.

In the hope of again seeing my beauty, I immediately set to work, and
thought of every thing that would be in the highest degree pleasing if
Gretchen were writing it to me. I thought I had composed every thing so
completely according to her form, her nature, her manner, and her mind,
that I could not refrain from wishing that it were so in reality, and
lost myself in rapture at the mere thought that something similar could
be sent from her to me. Thus I mystified myself, while I intended to
impose upon another; and much joy and much trouble was yet to arise out
of the affair. When I was once more summoned, I had finished, promised
to come, and did not fail at the appointed hour. There was only one of
the young people at home; Gretchen sat at the window spinning; the
mother was going to and fro. The young man desired that I should read it
over to him: I did so, and read, not without emotion, as I glanced over
the paper at the beautiful girl; and when I fancied that I remarked a
certain uneasiness in her deportment, and a gentle flush on her cheeks,
I uttered better and with more animation that which I wished to hear
from herself. The lover, who had often interrupted me with
commendations, at last entreated me to make some alterations. These
affected some passages which indeed were rather suited to the condition
of Gretchen than to that of the lady, who was of a good family, wealthy,
and known and respected in the city. After the young man had designated
the desired changes, and had brought me an inkstand, but had taken leave
for a short time on account of some business, I remained sitting on the
bench against the wall, behind the large table, and essayed the
alterations that were to be made, on the large slate, which almost
covered the whole table, with a pencil that always lay in the window;
because upon this slate reckonings were often made, and various
memoranda noted down, and those coming in or going out even communicated
with each other.

I had for a while written different things and rubbed them out again,
when I exclaimed impatiently, "It will not do!"--"So much the better,"
said the dear girl in a grave tone: "I wished that it might not do! You
should not meddle in such matters." She arose from the distaff, and,
stepping towards the table, gave me a severe lecture, with a great deal
of good sense and kindliness. "The thing seems an innocent jest: it is a
jest, but it is not innocent. I have already lived to see several cases,
in which our young people, for the sake of such mere mischief, have
brought themselves into great difficulty."--"But what shall I do?" I
asked: "the letter is written, and they rely upon me to alter it."--
"Trust me," she replied, "and do not alter it; nay, take it back, put it
in your pocket, go away, and try to make the matter straight through
your friend. I will also put in a word; for look you, though I am a poor
girl, and dependent upon these relations,--who indeed do nothing bad,
though they often, for the sake of sport or profit, undertake a good
deal that is rash,--I have resisted them, and would not copy the first
letter, as they requested. They transcribed it in a feigned hand; and,
if it is not otherwise, so may they also do with this. And you, a young
man of good family, rich, independent, why will you allow yourself to be
used as a tool in a business which can certainly bring no good to you,
and may possibly bring much that is unpleasant? "It made me very happy
to hear her speak thus continuously, for generally she introduced but
few words into conversation. My liking for her grew incredibly. I was
not master of myself, and replied, "I am not so independent as you
suppose; and of what use is wealth to me, when the most precious thing I
can desire is wanting?"

She had drawn my sketch of the poetic epistle towards her, and read it
half aloud in a sweet and graceful manner.

"That is very pretty," said she, stopping at a sort of /naïve/
point; "but it is a pity that it is not destined for a real purpose."--
"That were indeed very desirable," I cried; "and, oh! how happy must he
be, who receives from a girl he infinitely loves, such an assurance of
her affection."--"There is much required for that," she answered, "and
yet many things are possible."--"For example," I continued, "if any one
who knew, prized, honored, and adored you, laid such a paper before you,
what would you do?" I pushed the paper nearer to her, which she had
previously pushed back to me. She smiled, reflected for a moment, took
the pen, and subscribed her name. I was beside myself with rapture,
jumped up, and was going to embrace her. "No kissing!" said she, "that
is so vulgar; but let us love if we can." I had taken up the paper, and
thrust it into my pocket. "No one shall ever get it," said I: "the
affair is closed. You have saved me."--"Now complete the salvation," she
exclaimed, "and hurry off, before the others arrive, and you fall into
trouble and embarrassment!" I could not tear myself away from her; but
she asked me in so kindly a manner, while she took my right hand in both
of hers, and lovingly pressed it! The tears stood in my eyes: I thought
hers looked moist. I pressed my face upon her hands, and hastened away.
Never in my life had I found myself in such perplexity.

The first propensities to love in an uncorrupted youth take altogether a
spiritual direction. Nature seems to desire that one sex may by the
senses perceive goodness and beauty in the other. And thus to me, by the
sight of this girl,--by my strong inclination for her,--a new world of
the beautiful and the excellent had arisen. I perused my poetical
epistle a hundred times, gazed at the signature, kissed it, pressed it
to my heart, and rejoiced in this amiable confession. But the more my
transports increased, the more did it pain me not to be able to visit
her immediately, and to see and converse with her again; for I dreaded
the reproofs and importunities of her cousins. The good Pylades, who
might have arranged the affair, I could not contrive to meet. The next
Sunday, therefore, I set out for Niederrad, where these associates
generally used to go, and actually found them there. I was, however,
greatly surprised, when, instead of behaving in a cross, distant manner,
they came up to me with joyful countenances. The youngest particularly
was very kind, took me by the hand, and said, "You have lately played us
a sorry trick, and we were very angry with you; but your absconding and
taking away the poetical epistle has suggested a good thought to us,
which otherwise might never have occurred. By way of atonement, you may
treat us to-day; and you shall learn at the same time the notion we
have, which will certainly give you pleasure." This harangue caused me
no small embarrassment, for I had about me only money enough to regale
myself and a friend: but to treat a whole company, and especially one
which did not always stop at the right time, I was by no means prepared;
nay, the proposal astonished me the more, as they had always insisted,
in the most honorable manner, that each one should pay only his own
share. They smiled at my distress; and the youngest proceeded, "Let us
first take a seat in the bower, and then you shall learn more." We sat
down; and he said, "When you had taken the love-letter with you, we
talked the whole affair over again, and came to a conclusion that we had
gratuitously misused your talent to the vexation of others and our own
danger, for the sake of a mere paltry love of mischief, when we could
have employed it to the advantage of all of us. See, I have here an
order for a wedding-poem, as well as for a dirge. The second must be
ready immediately, the other can wait a week. Now, if you make these,
which is easy for you, you will treat us twice; and we shall long remain
your debtors." This proposal pleased me in every respect; for I had
already in my childhood looked with a certain envy on the occasional
poems, [Footnote: That is to say, a poem written for a certain occasion,
as a wedding, funeral, etc. The German word is
/Gelegenheitsgedicht/."--TRANS.]--of which then several circulated
every week, and at respectable marriages especially came to light by the
dozen,--because I thought I could make such things as well, nay, better
than others. Now an opportunity was offered me to show myself, and
especially to see myself in print. I did not appear disinclined. They
acquainted me with the personal particulars and the position of the
family: I went somewhat aside, made my plan, and produced some stanzas.
However, when I returned to the company, and the wine was not spared,
the poem began to halt; and I could not deliver it that evening. "There
is still time till to-morrow evening," they said; "and we will confess
to you that the fee which we receive for the dirge is enough to get us
another pleasant evening to-morrow. Come to us; for it is but fair that
Gretchen, too, should sup with us, as it was she properly who gave us
the notion." My joy was unspeakable. On my way home I had only the
remaining stanzas in my head, wrote down the whole before I went to
sleep, and the next morning made a very neat, fair copy. The day seemed
infinitely long to me; and scarcely was it dusk, than I found myself
again in the narrow little dwelling beside the dearest of girls.

The young people, with whom in this way I formed a closer and closer
connection, were not exactly of a low, but of an ordinary, type. Their
activity was commendable, and I listened to them with pleasure when they
spoke of the manifold ways and means by which one could gain a living:
above all, they loved to tell of people, now very rich, who had begun
with nothing. Others to whom they referred had, as poor clerks, rendered
themselves indispensable to their employers, and had finally risen to be
their sons-in-law; while others had so enlarged and improved a little
trade in matches and the like, that they were now prosperous merchants
and tradesmen. But above all, to young men who were active on their
feet, the trade of agent and factor, and the undertaking of all sorts of
commissions and charges for helpless rich men was, they said, a most
profitable means of gaining a livelihood. We all liked to hear this; and
each one fancied himself somebody, when he imagined, at the moment, that
there was enough in him, not only to get on in the world, but to acquire
an extraordinary fortune. But no one seemed to carry on this
conversation more earnestly than Pylades, who at last confessed that he
had an extraordinary passion for a girl, and was actually engaged to
her. The circumstances of his parents would not allow him to go to
universities; but he had endeavored to acquire a fine handwriting, a
knowledge of accounts and the modern languages, and would now do his
best in hopes of attaining that domestic felicity. His fellows praised
him for this, although they did not approve of a premature engagement;
and they added, that while forced to acknowledge him to be a fine, good
fellow, they did not consider him active or enterprising enough to do
any thing extraordinary. While he, in vindication of himself,
circumstantially set forth what he thought himself fit for, and how he
was going to begin, the others were also incited; and each one began to
tell what he was now able to do, doing, or carrying on, what he had
already accomplished, and what he saw immediately before him. The turn
at last came to me. I was to set forth my course of life and prospects;
and, while I was considering, Pylades said, "I make this one proviso,
lest we be at too great a disadvantage, that he does not bring into the
account the external advantages of his position. He should rather tell
us a tale how he would proceed if at this moment he were thrown entirely
upon his own resources, as we are."

Gretchen, who till this moment had kept on spinning, rose, and seated
herself as usual at the end of the table. We had already emptied some
bottles, and I began to relate the hypothetical history of my life in
the best humor. "First of all, then, I commend myself to you," said I,
"that you may continue the custom you have begun to bestow on me. If you
gradually procure me the profit of all the occasional poems, and we do
not consume them in mere feasting, I shall soon come to something. But
then, you must not take it ill if I dabble also in your handicraft."
Upon this, I told them what I had observed in their occupations, and for
which I held myself fit at any rate. Each one had previously rated his
services in money, and I asked them to assist me also in completing my
establishment. Gretchen had listened to all hitherto very attentively,
and that in a position which well suited her, whether she chose to hear
or to speak. With both hands she clasped her folded arms, and rested
them on the edge of the table. Thus she could sit a long while without
moving any thing but her head, which was never done without some
occasion or meaning. She had several times put in a word, and helped us
on over this and that, when we halted in our projects, and then was
again still and quiet as usual. I kept her in my eye, and it may readily
be supposed that I had not devised and uttered my plan without reference
to her. My passion for her gave to what I said such an air of truth and
probability, that, for a moment, I deceived myself, imagined myself as
lonely and helpless as my story supposed, and felt extremely happy in
the prospect of possessing her. Pylades had closed his confession with
marriage; and the question arose among the rest of us, whether our plans
went as far as that. "I have not the least doubt on that score," said I;
"for properly a wife is necessary to every one of us, in order to
preserve at home, and enable us to enjoy as a whole, what we rake
together abroad in such an odd way." I then made a sketch of a wife,
such as I wished; and it must have turned out strangely if she had not
been a perfect counterpart of Gretchen.

The dirge was consumed; the epithalamium now stood beneficially at hand:
I overcame all fear and care, and contrived, as I had many
acquaintances, to conceal my actual evening entertainments from my
family. To see and to be near the dear girl was soon an indispensable
condition of my being. The friends had grown just as accustomed to me,
and we were almost daily together, as if it could not be otherwise.
Pylades had, in the mean time, introduced his fair one into the house;
and this pair passed many an evening with us. They, as bride and
bridegroom, though still very much in the bud, did not conceal their
tenderness: Gretchen's deportment towards me was only suited to keep me
at a distance. She gave her hand to no one, not even to me; she allowed
no touch: yet she many times seated herself near me, particularly when I
wrote, or read aloud, and then, laying her arm familiarly upon my
shoulder, she looked over the book or paper. If, however, I ventured to
take on a similar liberty with her, she withdrew, and did not return
very soon. This position she often repeated; and, indeed, all her
attitudes and motions were very uniform, but always equally becoming,
beautiful, and charming. But such a familiarity I never saw her practise
towards anybody else.

One of the most innocent, and, at the same time, amusing, parties of
pleasure in which I engaged with different companies of young people,
was this,--that we seated ourselves in the Höchst market-ship, observed
the strange passengers packed away in it, and bantered and teased, now
this one, now that, as pleasure or caprice prompted. At Höchst we got
out at the time when the market-boat from Mentz arrived. At a hotel
there was a well-spread table, where the better sort of travellers,
coming and going, ate with each other, and then proceeded, each on his
way, as both ships returned. Every time, after dining, we sailed up to
Frankfort, having, with a very large company, made the cheapest water-
excursion that was possible. Once I had undertaken this journey with
Gretchen's cousins, when a young man joined us at table in Hochst, who
might be a little older than we were. They knew him, and he got himself
introduced to me. He had something very pleasing in his manner, though
he was not otherwise distinguished. Coming from Mentz, he now went back
with us to Frankfort, and conversed with me of every thing that related
to the internal arrangements of the city, and the public offices and
places, on which he seemed to me to be very well informed. When we
separated, he bade me farewell, and added, that he wished I might think
well of him, as he hoped on occasion to avail himself of my
recommendation. I did not know what he meant by this, but the cousins
enlightened me some days after. They spoke well of him, and asked me to
intercede with my grandfather, as a moderate appointment was just now
vacant, which this friend would like to obtain. I at first wished to be
excused, as I had never meddled in such affairs; but they went on urging
me until I resolved to do it. I had already many times remarked, that in
these grants of offices, which unfortunately were regarded as matters of
favor, the mediation of my grandmother or an aunt had not been without
effect. I was now so advanced as to arrogate some influence to myself.
For that reason, to gratify my friends, who declared themselves under
every sort of obligation for such a kindness, I overcame the timidity of
a grandchild, and undertook to deliver a written application that was
handed in to me.

One Sunday, after dinner, while my grandfather was busy in his garden,
all the more because autumn was approaching, and I tried to assist him
on every side, I came forward with my request and the petition, after
some hesitation. He looked at it, and asked me whether I knew the young
man. I told him in general terms what was to be said, and he let the
matter rest there. "If he has merit, and, moreover, good testimonials, I
will favor him for your sake and his own." He said no more, and for a
long while I heard nothing of the matter.

For some time I had observed that Gretchen was no longer spinning, but
instead was employed in sewing, and that, too, on very fine work, which
surprised me the more, as the days were already shortening, and winter
was coming on. I thought no further about it; only it troubled me that
several times I had not found her at home in the morning as formerly,
and could not learn, without importunity, whither she had gone. Yet I
was destined one day to be surprised in a very odd manner. My sister,
who was getting herself ready for a ball, asked me to fetch her some so-
called Italian flowers, at a fashionable milliner's. They were made in
convents, and were small and pretty: myrtles especially, dwarf-roses,
and the like, came out quite beautifully and naturally. I did her the
favor, and went to the shop where I had been with her often already.
Hardly had I entered, and greeted the proprietress, than I saw sitting
in the window a lady, who, in a lace cap, looked very young and pretty,
and in a silk mantilla seemed very well shaped. I could easily recognize
that she was an assistant, for she was occupied in fastening a ribbon
and feathers upon a hat. The milliner showed me the long box with single
flowers of various sorts. I looked them over, and, as I made my choice,
glanced again towards the lady in the window; but how great was my
astonishment when I perceived an incredible similarity to Gretchen, nay,
was forced to be convinced at last that it was Gretchen herself. Nor
could I doubt any longer, when she winked with her eyes, and gave me a
sign that I must not betray our acquaintance. I now, with my choosing
and rejecting, drove the milliner into despair more than even a lady
could have done. I had, in fact, no choice; for I was excessively
confused, and at the same time liked to linger, because it kept me near
the girl, whose disguise annoyed me, though in that disguise she
appeared to me more enchanting than ever. Finally the milliner seemed to
lose all patience, and with her own hands selected for me a whole
bandbox full of flowers, which I was to place before my sister, and let
her choose for herself. Thus I was, as it were, driven out of the shop,
she sending the box in advance by one of her girls.

Scarcely had I reached home than my father caused me to be called, and
communicated to me that it was now quite certain that the Archduke
Joseph would be elected and crowned king of Rome. An event so highly
important was not to be expected without preparation, nor allowed to
pass with mere gaping and staring. He wished, therefore, he said, to go
through with me the election and coronation diaries of the two last
coronations, as well as through the last capitulations of election, in
order to remark what new conditions might be added in the present
instance. The diaries were opened, and we occupied ourselves with them
the whole day till far into the night; while the pretty girl, sometimes
in her old house-dress, sometimes in her new costume, ever hovered
before me, backwards and forwards among the most august objects of the
Holy Roman Empire. This evening it was impossible to see her, and I lay
awake through a very restless night. The study of yesterday was the next
day zealously resumed; and it was not till towards evening that I found
it possible to visit my fair one, whom I met again in her usual house-
dress. She smiled when she saw me, but I did not venture to mention any
thing before the others. When the whole company sat quietly together
again, she began, and said, "It is unfair that you do not confide to our
friend what we have lately resolved upon." She then continued to relate,
that after our late conversation, in which the discussion was how any
one could get on in the world, something was also said of the way in
which a woman could enhance the value of her talent and labor, and
advantageously employ her time. The cousin had consequently proposed
that she should make an experiment at a milliner's, who was just then in
want of an assistant. They had, she said, arranged with the woman: she
went there so many hours a day, and was well paid; but she would there
be obliged, for propriety's sake, to conform to a certain dress, which,
however, she left behind her every time, as it did not at all suit her
other modes of life and employment. I was indeed set at rest by this
declaration; but it did not quite please me to know that the pretty girl
was in a public shop, and at a place where the fashionable world found a
convenient resort. But I betrayed nothing, and strove to work off my
jealous care in silence. For this the younger cousin did not allow me a
long time, as he once more came forward with a proposal for an
occasional poem, told me all the personalities, and at once desired me
to prepare myself for the invention and disposition of the work. He had
spoken with me several times already concerning the proper treatment of
such a theme; and, as I was voluble in these cases, he readily asked me
to explain to him, circumstantially, what is rhetorical in these things,
to give him a notion of the matter, and to make use of my own and
others' labors in this kind for examples. The young man had some brains,
but not a trace of a poetical vein; and now he went so much into
particulars, and wished to have such an account of every thing, that I
gave utterance to the remark, "It seems as if you wanted to encroach
upon my trade, and take away my customers!"--"I will not deny it," said
he, smiling, "as I shall do you no harm by it. This will only continue
to the time when you go to the university, and till then you must allow
me still to profit something by your society."--"Most cordially," I
replied; and I encouraged him to draw out a plan, to choose a metre
according to the character of his subject, and to do whatever else might
seem necessary. He went to work in earnest, but did not succeed. I was
in the end compelled to re-write so much of it, that I could more easily
and better have written it all from the beginning myself. Yet this
teaching and learning, this mutual labor, afforded us good
entertainment. Gretchen took part in it, and had many a pretty notion;
so that we were all pleased, we may, indeed, say happy. During the day
she worked at the milliner's: in the evenings we generally met together,
and our contentment was not even disturbed when at last the commissions
for occasional poems began to leave off. Still we felt hurt once, when
one of them came back under protest, because it did not suit the party
who ordered it. We consoled ourselves, however, as we considered it our
very best work, and could, therefore, declare the other a bad judge. The
cousin, who was determined to learn something at any rate, resorted to
the expedient of inventing problems, in the solution of which we always
found amusement enough; but, as they brought in nothing, our little
banquets had to be much more frugally managed.

That great political object, the election and coronation of a king of
Rome, was pursued with more and more earnestness. The assembling of the
electoral college, originally appointed to take place at Augsburg in the
October of 1763, was now transferred to Frankfort; and both at the end
of this year and in the beginning of the next, preparations went forward
which should usher in this important business. The beginning was made by
a parade never yet seen by us. One of our chancery officials on
horseback, escorted by four trumpeters likewise mounted, and surrounded
by a guard of infantry, read in a loud, clear voice at all the corners
of the city, a prolix edict, which announced the forthcoming
proceedings, and exhorted the citizens to a becoming deportment suitable
to the circumstances. The council was occupied with weighty
considerations; and it was not long before the Imperial quartermaster,
despatched by the hereditary grand marshal, made his appearance, in
order to arrange and designate the residences of the ambassadors and
their suites, according to the old custom. Our house lay in the Palatine
district, and we had to provide for a new but agreeable billetting. The
middle story, which Count Thorane had formerly occupied, was given up to
a cavalier of the Palatinate; and as Baron von Königsthal, the Nuremburg
/chargé-d'affaires/, occupied the upper floor, we were still more
crowded than in the time of the French. This served me as a new pretext
for being out of doors, and to pass the greater part of the day in the
streets, that I might see all that was open to public view.

After the preliminary alteration and arrangement of the rooms in the
town-house had seemed to us worth seeing; after the arrival of the
ambassadors one after another, and their first solemn ascent in a body,
on the 6th of February, had taken place,--we admired the coming in of
the imperial commissioners, and their ascent also to the /Romer/,
which was made with great pomp. The dignified person of the Prince of
Lichtenstein made a good impression; yet connoisseurs maintained that
the showy liveries had already been used on another occasion, and that
this election and coronation would hardly equal in brilliancy that of
Charles the Seventh. We younger folks were content with what was before
our eyes: all seemed to us very fine, and much of it perfectly
astonishing.

The electoral congress was fixed at last for the 3d of March. New
formalities again set the city in motion, and the alternate visits of
ceremony on the part of the ambassadors kept us always on our legs. We
were, moreover, compelled to watch closely; as we were not only to gape
about, but to note every thing well, in order to give a proper report at
home, and even to make out many little memoirs, on which my father and
Herr von Königsthal had deliberated, partly for our exercise and partly
for their own information. And certainly this was of peculiar advantage
to me; as I was enabled very tolerably to keep a living election and
coronation diary, as far as regarded externals.

The person who first of all made a durable impression upon me was the
chief ambassador from the electorate of Mentz, Baron von Erthal,
afterwards elector. Without having any thing striking in his figure, he
was always highly pleasing to me in his black gown trimmed with lace.
The second ambassador, Baron von Groschlag, was a well-formed man of the
world, easy in his exterior, but conducting himself with great decorum.
He everywhere produced a very agreeable impression. Prince Esterhazy,
the Bohemian envoy, was not tall, though well formed, lively, and at the
same time eminently decorous, without pride or coldness. I had a special
liking for him, because he reminded me of Marshal de Broglio. Yet the
form and dignity of these excellent persons vanished, in a certain
degree, before the prejudice that was entertained in favor of Baron von
Plotho, the Brandenburg ambassador. This man, who was distinguished by a
certain parsimony, both in his own clothes and in his liveries and
equipages, had been greatly renowned, from the time of the Seven Years'
War, as a diplomatic hero. At Ratisbon, when the Notary April thought,
in the presence of witnesses, to serve him with the declaration of
outlawry which had been issued against his king, he had, with the laconic
exclamation, "What! you serve?" thrown him, or caused him to be thrown,
down stairs. We believed the first, because it pleased us best; and we
could readily believe it of the little compact man, with his black,
fiery eyes glancing here and there. All eyes were directed towards him,
particularly when he alighted. There arose every time a sort of joyous
whispering; and but little was wanting to a regular explosion, or a
shout of /Vivat! Bravo!/ So high did the king, and all who were
devoted to him, body and soul, stand in favor with the crowd, among
whom, besides the Frankforters, were Germans from all parts.

On the one hand these things gave me much pleasure; as all that took
place, no matter of what nature it might be, concealed a certain
meaning, indicated some internal relation: and such symbolic ceremonies
again, for a moment, represented as living the old Empire of Germany,
almost choked to death by so many parchments, papers, and books. But, on
the other hand, I could not suppress a secret displeasure, when at home,
I had, on behalf of my father, to transcribe the internal transactions,
and at the same time to remark that here several powers, which balanced
each other, stood in opposition, and only so far agreed, as they
designed to limit the new ruler even more than the old one; that every
one valued his influence only so far as he hoped to retain or enlarge
his privileges, and better to secure his independence. Nay, on this
occasion they were more attentive than usual, because they began to fear
Joseph the Second, his vehemence, and probable plans.

With my grandfather and other members of the council, whose families I
used to visit, this was no pleasant time, they had so much to do with
meeting distinguished guests, complimenting, and the delivery of
presents. No less had the magistrate, both in general and in particular,
to defend himself, to resist, and to protest, as every one on such
occasions desires to extort something from him, or burden him with
something; and few of those to whom he appeals support him, or lend him
their aid. In short, all that I had read in "Lersner's Chronicle" of
similar incidents on similar occasions, with admiration of the patience
and perseverance of those good old councilmen, came once more vividly
before my eyes.

Many vexations arise also from this, that the city is gradually overrun
with people, both useful and needless. In vain are the courts reminded,
on the part of the city, of prescriptions of the Golden Bull, now,
indeed, obsolete. Not only the deputies with their attendants, but many
persons of rank, and others who come from curiosity or for private
objects, stand under protection; and the question as to who is to be
billetted out, and who is to hire his own lodging, is not always decided
at once. The tumult constantly increases; and even those who have
nothing to give, or to answer for, begin to feel uncomfortable.

Even we young people, who could quietly contemplate it all, ever found
something which did not quite satisfy our eyes or our imagination. The
Spanish mantles, the huge plumed hats of the ambassadors, and other
objects here and there, had indeed a truly antique look; but there was a
great deal, on the other hand, so half-new or entirely modern, that the
affair assumed throughout a motley, unsatisfactory, often tasteless,
appearance. We were, therefore, very happy to learn that great
preparations were made on account of the journey to Frankfort of the
emperor and future king; that the proceedings of the college of
electors, which were based on the last electoral capitulation, were now
going forward rapidly; and that the day of election had been appointed
for the 27th of March. Now there was a thought of fetching the insignia
of the empire from Nuremburg and Aix-la-Chation; while Gretchen, by her
unbroken attention, had highly encouraged me. At last she thanked me,
and envied, as she said, all who were informed of the affairs of this
world, and knew how this and that came about and what it signified. She
wished she were a boy, and managed to acknowledge, with much kindness,
that she was indebted to me for a great deal of instruction. "If I were
a boy," said she, "we would learn something good together at the
university." The conversation continued in this strain: she definitively
resolved to take instruction in French, of the absolute necessity of
which she had become well aware in the milliner's shop. I asked her why
she no longer went there; for during the latter times, not being able to
go out much in the evening, I had often passed the shop during the day
for her sake, merely to see her for a moment. She explained that she had
not liked to expose herself there in these unsettled times. As soon as
the city returned to its former condition, she intended to go there
again.

Then the impending day of election was the topic of conversation. I
contrived to tell, at length, what was going to happen, and how, and to
support my demonstrations in detail by drawings on the tablet; for I had
the place of conclave, with its altars, thrones, seats, and chairs,
perfectly before my mind. We separated at the proper time, and in a
particularly comfortable frame of mind.

For, with a young couple who are in any degree harmoniously formed by
nature, nothing can conduce to a more beautiful union than when the
maiden is anxious to learn, and the youth inclined to teach. There
arises from it a well-grounded and agreeable relation. She sees in him
the creator of her spiritual existence; and he sees in her a creature
that ascribes her perfection, not to nature, not to chance, nor to any
one-sided inclination, but to a mutual will: and this reciprocation is
so sweet, that we cannot wonder, if, from the days of the old and the
new [Footnote: The "/new/ Abelard" is St. Preux, in the Nouvelle
Héloise of Rousseau.--TRANS.] Abelard, the most violent passions, and as
much happiness as unhappiness, have arisen from such an intercourse of
two beings.

With the next day began great commotion in the city, on account of the
visits paid and returned, which now took place with the greatest
ceremony. But what particularly interested me, as a citizen of
Frankfort, and gave rise to a great many reflections, was the taking of
the oath of security (/Sicherheitseides/) by the council, the
military, and the body of citizens, not through representatives, but
personally and in mass: first, in the great hall of the Römer, by the
magistracy and staff-officers; then in the great square (/Platz/),
the Römerberg, by all the citizens, according to their respective ranks,
gradations, or quarterings; and, lastly, by the rest of the military.
Here one could survey at a single glance the entire commonwealth,
assembled for the honorable purpose of swearing security to the head and
members of the empire, and unbroken peace during the great work now
impending. The Electors of Treves and of Cologne had now also arrived.
On the evening before the day of election, all strangers are sent out of
the city, the gates are closed, the Jews are confined to their quarter,
and the citizen of Frankfort prides himself not a little that he alone
may witness so great a solemnity.

All that had hitherto taken place was tolerably modern: the highest and
high personages moved about only in coaches, but now we were going to
see them in the primitive manner on horseback. The concourse and rush
were extraordinary. I managed to squeeze myself into the Römer, which I
knew as familiarly as a mouse does the private corn-loft, till I reached
the main entrance, before which the electors and ambassadors, who had
first arrived in their state-coaches, and had assembled above, were now
to mount their horses. The stately, well-trained steeds were covered
with richly laced housings, and ornamented in every way. The Elector
Emeric Joseph, a handsome, portly man, looked well on horseback. Of the
other two I remember less, excepting that the red princes' mantles,
trimmed with ermine, which we had been accustomed to see only in
pictures before, seemed to us very romantic in the open air. The
ambassadors of the absent temporal electors, with their Spanish dresses
of gold brocade, embroidered over with gold, and trimmed with gold lace,
likewise did our eyes good; and the large feathers particularly, that
waved most splendidly from the hats, which were cocked in the antique
style. But what did not please me were the short modern breeches, the
white silk stockings, and the fashionable shoes. We should have liked
half-boots,--gilded as much as they pleased,--sandals, or something of
the kind, that we might have seen a more consistent costume.

In deportment the Ambassador Von Plotho again distinguished himself from
all the rest. He appeared lively and cheerful, and seemed to have no
great respect for the whole ceremony. For when his front-man, an elderly
gentleman, could not leap immediately on his horse, and he was therefore
forced to wait some time in the grand entrance, he did not refrain from
laughing, till his own horse was brought forward, upon which he swung
himself very dexterously, and was again admired by us as a most worthy
representative of Frederick the Second.

Now the curtain was for us once more let down. I had, indeed, tried to
force my way into the church; but that place was more inconvenient than
agreeable. The voters had withdrawn into the /sanctum/, where
prolix ceremonies usurped the place of a deliberate consideration as to
the election. After long delay, pressure, and bustle, the people at last
heard the name of Joseph the Second, who was proclaimed King of Rome.

The thronging of strangers into the city became greater and greater.
Everybody went about in his holiday clothes, so that at last none but
dresses entirely of gold were found worthy of note. The emperor and king
had already arrived at /Heusenstamm/, a castle of the counts of
Schönborn, and were there in the customary manner greeted and welcomed;
but the city celebrated this important epoch by spiritual festivals of
all the religions, by high masses and sermons; and, on the temporal
side, by incessant firing of cannon as an accompaniment to the "Te
Deums."

If all these public solemnities, from the beginning up to this point,
had been regarded as a deliberate work of art, not much to find fault
with would have been found. All was well prepared. The public scenes
opened gradually, and went on increasing in importance; the men grew in
number, the personages in dignity, their appurtenances, as well as
themselves, in splendor,--and thus it advanced with every day, till at
last even a well-prepared and firm eye became bewildered.

The entrance of the Elector of Mentz, which we have refused to describe
more completely, was magnificent and imposing enough to suggest to the
imagination of an eminent man the advent of a great prophesied world-
ruler: even we were not a little dazzled by it. But now our expectation
was stretched to the utmost, as it was said that the emperor and the
future king were approaching the city. At a little distance from
Sachsenhausen, a tent had been erected in which the entire magistracy
remained, to show the appropriate honor, and to proffer the keys of the
city to the chief of the empire. Farther out, on a fair, spacious plain,
stood another, a state pavilion, whither the whole body of electoral
princes and ambassadors repaired; while their retinues extended along
the whole way, that gradually, as their turns came, they might again
move towards the city, and enter properly into the procession. By this
time the emperor reached the tent, entered it; and the princes and
ambassadors, after a most respectful reception, withdrew, to facilitate
the passage of the chief ruler.

We who remained in the city, to admire this pomp within the walls and
streets still more than could have been done in the open fields, were
very well entertained for a while by the barricade set up by the
citizens in the lanes, by the throng of people, and by the various jests
and improprieties which arose, till the ringing of bells and the thunder
of cannon announced to us the immediate approach of majesty. What must
have been particularly grateful to a Frankforter was, that on this
occasion, in the presence of so many sovereigns and their
representatives, the imperial city of Frankfort also appeared as a
little sovereign: for her equerry opened the procession; chargers with
armorial trappings, upon which the white eagle on a red field looked
very fine, followed him; then came attendants and officials, drummers
and trumpeters, and deputies of the council, accompanied by the clerks
of the council, in the city livery, on foot. Immediately behind these
were the three companies of citizen cavalry, very well mounted,--the
same that we had seen from our youth, at the reception of the escort,
and on other public occasions. We rejoiced in our participation of the
honor, and in our one hundred-thousandth part of a sovereignty which now
appeared in its full brilliancy. The different trains of the hereditary
imperial marshal, and of the envoys deputed by the six temporal
electors, marched after these step by step. None of them consisted of
less than twenty attendants and two state-carriages,--some, even, of a
greater number. The retinue of the spiritual electors was ever on the
increase,--their servants and domestic officers seemed innumerable: the
Elector of Cologne and the Elector of Treves had above twenty state-
carriages, and the Elector of Mentz quite as many alone. The servants,
both on horseback and on foot, were clothed most splendidly throughout:
the lords in the equipages, spiritual and temporal, had not omitted to
appear richly and venerably dressed, and adorned with all the badges of
their orders. The train of his imperial majesty now, as was fit,
surpassed all the rest. The riding-masters, the led horses, the
equipages, the shabracks and caparisons, attracted every eye; and the
sixteen six-horse gala-wagons of the imperial chamberlains, privy
councillors, high chamberlain, high stewards, and high equerry, closed,
with great pomp, this division of the procession, which, in spite of its
magnificence and extent, was still only to be the vanguard.

But now the line became concentrated more and more, while the dignity
and parade kept on increasing. For in the midst of a chosen escort of
their own domestic attendants, the most of them on foot, and a few on
horseback, appeared the electoral ambassadors, as well as the electors
in person, in ascending order, each one in a magnificent state-carriage.
Immediately behind the Elector of Mentz, ten imperial footmen, one and
forty lackeys, and eight /heyducks/ [Footnote: A class of
attendants dress in Hungarian costume.--TRANS.] announced their
majesties. The most magnificent state-carriage, furnished even at the
back part with an entire window of plate-glass, ornamented with
paintings, lacquer, carved work, and gilding, covered with red
embroidered velvet on the top and inside, allowed us very conveniently
to behold the emperor and king, the long-desired heads, in all their
glory. The procession was led a long, circuitous route, partly from
necessity, that it might be able to unfold itself, and partly to render
it visible to the great multitude of people. It had passed through
Sachsenhausen, over the bridge, up the Fahrgasse, then down the Zeile,
and turned towards the inner city through the Katharinenpforte, formerly
a gate, and, since the enlargement of the city, an open thoroughfare.
Here it had been happily considered, that, for a series of years, the
external grandeur of the world had gone on expanding, both in height and
breadth. Measure had been taken; and it was found that the present
imperial state-carriage could not, without striking its carved work and
other outward decorations, get through this gateway, through which so
many princes and emperors had gone backwards and forwards. They debated
the matter, and, to avoid an inconvenient circuit, resolved to take up
the pavements, and to contrive a gentle descent and ascent. With the
same view, they had also removed all the projecting eaves from the shops
and booths in the street, that neither crown nor eagle nor the genii
should receive any shock or injury.

Eagerly as we directed our eyes to the high personages when this
precious vessel with such precious contents approached us, we could not
avoid turning our looks upon the noble horses, their harness, and its
embroidery; but the strange coachmen and outriders, both sitting on the
horses, particularly struck us. They looked as if they had come from
some other nation, or even from another world, with their long black and
yellow velvet coats, and their caps with large plumes of feathers, after
the imperial-court fashion. Now the crowd became so dense that it was
impossible to distinguish much more. The Swiss guard on both sides of
the carriage; the hereditary marshal holding the Saxon sword upwards in
his right hand; the field-marshals, as leaders of the imperial guard,
riding behind the carriage; the imperial pages in a body; and, finally,
the imperial horse-guard (/Hatschiergarde/) itself, in black velvet
frocks (/Flügelröck/), with all the seams edged with gold, under
which were red coats and leather-colored camisoles, likewise richly
decked with gold. One scarcely recovered one's self from sheer seeing,
pointing, and showing, so that the scarcely less splendidly clad body-
guards of the electors were barely looked at; and we should, perhaps,
have withdrawn from the windows, if we had not wished to take a view of
our own magistracy, who closed the procession in their fifteen two-horse
coaches; and particularly the clerk of the council, with the city keys
on red velvet cushions. That our company of city grenadiers should cover
the rear seemed to us honorable enough, and we felt doubly and highly
edified as Germans and as Fraukforters by this great day,

We had taken our place in a house which the procession had to pass again
when it returned from the cathedral. Of religious services, of music, of
rites and solemnities, of addresses and answers, of propositions and
readings aloud, there was so much in church, choir, and conclave, before
it came to the swearing of the electoral capitulation, that we had time
enough to partake of an excellent collation, and to empty many bottles
to the health of our old and young ruler. The conversation, meanwhile,
as is usual on such occasions, reverted to the time past; and there were
not wanting aged persons who preferred that to the present,--at least,
with respect to a certain human interest and impassioned sympathy which
then prevailed. At the coronation of Francis the First all had not been
so settled as now; peace had not yet been concluded; France and the
Electors of Brandenburg and the Palatinate were opposed to the election;
the troops of the future emperor were stationed at Heidelberg, where he
had his headquarters; and the insignia of the empire, coming from Aix,
were almost carried off by the inhabitants of the Palatinate. Meanwhile,
negotiations went on; and on neither side was the affair conducted in
the strictest manner. Maria Theresa, though then pregnant, comes in
person to see the coronation of her husband, which is at last earned
into effect. She arrived at Aschaffenburg, and went on board a yacht in
order to repair to Frankfort. Francis, coming from Heidelberg, thinks to
meet his wife, but arrives too late: she has already departed. Unknown,
he jumps into a little boat, hastens alter her, reaches her ship; and
the loving pair is delighted at this surprising meeting. The story
spreads immediately; and all the world sympathizes with this tender
pair, so richly blessed with children, who have been so inseparable
since their union, that once, on a journey from Vienna to Florence, they
are forced to keep quarantine together on the Venetian border. Maria
Theresa is welcomed in the city with rejoicings: she enters the Roman
Emperor Inn, while the great tent for the reception of her husband is
erected on the Bornheim heath. There, of the spiritual electors, only
Mentz is found; and, of the ambassadors of the temporal electors, only
Saxony, Bohemia, and Hanover. The entrance begins, and what it may lack
of completeness and splendor is richly compensated by the presence of a
beautiful lady. She stands upon the balcony of the well-situated house,
and greets her husband with cries of "Vivat!" and clapping of hands: the
people joined, excited to the highest enthusiasm. As the great are,
after all, men, the citizen deems them big equals when he wishes to love
them; and that he can best do when he can picture them to himself as
loving husbands, tender parents, devoted brothers, and true friends. At
that time all happiness had been wished and prophesied; and to-day it
was seen fulfilled in the first-born son, to whom everybody was well
inclined on account of his handsome, youthful form, and upon whom the
world set the greatest hopes, on account of the great qualities that he
showed.

We had become quite absorbed in the past and future, when some friends
who came in recalled us to the present. They were of that class of
people who know the value of novelty, and therefore hasten to announce
it first. They were even able to tell of a fine humane trait in those
exalted personages whom we had seen go by with the greatest pomp. It had
been concerted, that on the way, between Heusenstamm and the great tent,
the emperor and king should find the Landgrave of Darmstadt in the
forest. This old prince, now approaching the grave, wished to see once
more the master to whom he had been devoted in former times. Both might
remember the day when the landgrave brought over to Heidelberg the
decree of the electors, choosing Francis as emperor, and replied to the
valuable presents he received with protestations of unalterable
devotion. These eminent persons stood in a grove of firs; and the
landgrave, weak with old age, supported himself against a pine, to
continue the conversation, which was not without emotion on both sides.
The place was afterwards marked in an innocent way, and we young people
sometimes wandered to it.

Thus several hours had passed in remembrance of the old and
consideration of the new, when the procession, though curtailed and more
compact, again passed before our eyes; and we were enabled to observe
and mark the detail more closely, and imprint it on our minds for the
future.

From that moment the city was in uninterrupted motion; for until each
and every one whom it behooved, and of whom it was required, had paid
their respects to the highest dignities, and exhibited themselves one by
one, there was no end to the marching to and fro: and the court of each
one of the high persons present could be very conveniently repeated in
detail.

Now, too, the insignia of the empire arrived. But, that no ancient usage
might be omitted even in this respect, they had to remain half a day
till late at night in the open field, on account of a dispute about
territory and escort between the Elector of Mentz and the city. The
latter yielded: the people of Mentz escorted the insignia as far as the
barricade, and so the affair terminated for this time.

In these days I did not come to myself. At home I had to write and copy;
every thing had to be seen: and so ended the month of March, the second
half of which had been so rich in festivals for us. I had promised
Gretchen a faithful and complete account of what had lately happened,
and of what was to be expected on the coronation-day. This great day
approached; I thought more of how I should tell it to her than of what
properly was to be told: all that came under my eyes and my pen I merely
worked up rapidly for this sole and immediate use. At last I reached her
residence somewhat late one evening, and was not a little proud to think
how my discourse on this occasion would be much more successful than the
first unprepared one. But a momentary incitement often brings us, and
others through us, more joy than the most deliberate purpose can afford.
I found, indeed, pretty nearly the same company; but there were some
unknown persons among them. They sat down to play, all except Gretchen
and her younger cousin, who remained with me at the slate. The dear girl
expressed most gracefully her delight that she, though a stranger, had
passed for a citizen on the election-day, and had taken part in that
unique spectacle. She thanked me most warmly for having managed to take
care of her, and for having been so attentive as to procure her, through
Pylades, all sorts of admissions by means of billets, directions,
friends, and intercessions.

She liked to hear about the jewels of the empire. I promised her that we
should, if possible, see these together. She made some jesting remarks
when she learned that the garments and crown had been tried on the young
king. I knew where she would be, to see the solemnities of the
coronation-day, and directed her attention to every thing that was
impending, and particularly to what might be minutely inspected from her
place of view.

Thus we forgot to think about time: it was already past midnight, and I
found that I unfortunately had not the house-key with me. I could not
enter the house without making the greatest disturbance. I communicated
my embarrassment to her. "After all," said she, "it will be best for the
company to remain together." The cousins and the strangers had already
had this in mind, because it was not known where they would be lodged
for the night. The matter was soon decided: Gretchen went to make some
coffee, after bringing in and lighting a large brass lamp, furnished
with oil and wick, because the candles threatened to burn out.

The coffee served to enliven us for several hours, but the game
gradually slackened; conversation failed; the mother slept in the great
chair; the strangers, weary from travelling, nodded here and there; and
Pylades and his fair one sat in a corner. She had laid her head on his
shoulder, and had gone to sleep; and he did not keep long awake. The
younger cousin, sitting opposite to us by the slate, had crossed his
arms before him, and slept with his face resting upon them. I sat in the
window-corner, behind the table, and Gretchen by me. We talked in a low
voice: but at last sleep overcame her also; she leaned her head on my
shoulder, and sank at once into a slumber. Thus I now sat, the only one
awake, in a most singular position, in which the kind brother of death
soon put me also to rest. I went to sleep; and, when I awoke, it was
already bright day. Gretchen was standing before the mirror arranging
her little cap: she was more lovely than ever, and, when I departed,
cordially pressed my hands. I crept home by a roundabout way; for, on
the side towards the little /Stag-ditch/, my father had opened a
sort of little peep-hole in the wall, not without the opposition of his
neighbor. This side we avoided when we wanted not to be observed by him
in coming home. My mother, whose mediation always came in well for us,
had endeavored to palliate my absence in the morning at breakfast, by
the supposition that I had gone out early; and I experienced no
disagreeable effects from this innocent night.

Taken as a whole, this infinitely various world which surrounded me
produced upon me but a very simple impression. I had no interest but to
mark closely the outside of the objects, no business but that with which
I had been charged by my father and Herr von Königsthal, by which,
indeed, I perceived the inner course of things. I had no liking but for
Gretchen, and no other view than to see and take in every thing
properly, that I might be able to repeat it with her, and explain it to
her. Often when a train was going by, I described it half aloud to
myself, to assure myself of all the particulars, and to be praised by my
fair one for this attention and accuracy: the applause and
acknowledgments of the others I regarded as a mere appendix.

I was indeed presented to many exalted and distinguished persons; but
partly, no one had time to trouble himself about others, and partly,
older people do not know at once how they should converse with a young
man and try him. I, on my side, was likewise not particularly skilful in
adapting myself to people. I generally won their favor, but not their
approbation. Whatever occupied me was completely present to me, but I
did not ask whether it might be also suitable to others. I was mostly
too lively or too quiet, and appeared either importunate or sullen, just
as persons attracted or repelled me; and thus I was considered to be
indeed full of promise, but at the same time was declared eccentric.

The coronation-day dawned at last on the 3d of April, 1764: the weather
was favorable, and everybody was in motion. I, with several of my
relations and friends, had been provided with a good place in one of the
upper stories of the Römer itself, where we might completely survey the
whole. We betook ourselves to the spot very early in the morning, and
from above, as in a bird's-eye view, contemplated the arrangements which
we had inspected more closely the day before. There was the newly
erected fountain, with two large tubs on the left and right, into which
the double-eagle on the post was to pour from its two beaks white wine
on this side, and red wine on that. There, gathered into a heap, lay the
oats: here stood the large wooden hut, in which we had several days
since seen the whole fat ox roasted and basted on a huge spit before a
charcoal fire. All the avenues leading out from the Römer, and from
other streets back to the Römer, were secured on both sides by barriers
and guards. The great square was gradually filled; and the waving and
pressure grew every moment stronger and more in motion, as the multitude
always, if possible, endeavored to reach the spot where some new scene
arose, and something particular was announced.

All this time there reigned a tolerable stillness; and, when the alarm-
bells were sounded, all the people seemed struck with terror and
amazement. What first attracted the attention of all who could overlook
the square from above, was the train in which the lords of Aix and
Nuremberg brought the crown-jewels to the cathedral. These, as palladia,
had been assigned the first place in the carriage; and the deputies sat
before them on the back-seat with becoming reverence. Now the three
electors betake themselves to the cathedral. After the presentation of
the insignia to the Elector of Mentz, the crown and sword are
immediately carried to the imperial quarters. The further arrangements
and manifold ceremonies occupied, in the interim, the chief persons, as
well as the spectators, in the church, as we other well-informed persons
could well imagine.

In the mean time the ambassadors drove before our eyes up to the Römer,
from which the canopy is carried by the under-officers into the imperial
quarters. The hereditary marshal, Count von Pappenheim, instantly mounts
his horse: he was a very handsome, slender gentleman, whom the Spanish
costume, the rich doublet, the gold mantle, the high, feathered hat, and
the loose, flying hair, became very well. He puts himself in motion;
and, amid the sound of all the bells, the ambassadors follow him on
horseback to the quarters of the emperor in still greater magnificence
than on the day of election. One would have liked to be there too; as
indeed, on this day, it would hare been altogether desirable to multiply
one's self. However, we told each other what was going on there. Now the
emperor is putting on his domestic robes, we said, a new dress, made
after the old Carolingian pattern. The hereditary officers receive the
insignia, and with them get on horseback. The emperor in his robes, the
Roman king in the Spanish habit, immediately mount their steeds; and,
while this is done, the endless procession which precedes them has
already announced them.

The eye was already wearied by the multitude of richly dressed
attendants and magistrates, and by the nobility, who, in stately
fashion, were moving along; but when the electoral envoys, the
hereditary officers, and at last, under the richly embroidered canopy,
borne by twelve /schöffen/ and senators, the emperor, in romantic
costume, and to the left, a little behind him, in the Spanish dress, his
son, slowly floated along on magnificently adorned horses, the eye was
no more sufficient for the sight. One would have liked to fix the scene,
but for a moment, by a magic charm; but the glory passed on without
stopping: and the space that was scarcely quitted was immediately filled
again by the crowd, which poured in like billows.

But now a new pressure ensued; for another approach from the market to
the Römer gate had to be opened, and a road of planks to be bridged over
it, on which the train returning from the cathedral was to walk.

What passed within the cathedral, the endless ceremonies which precede
and accompany the anointing, the crowning, the dubbing of knighthood,--
all this we were glad to hear told afterwards by those who had
sacrificed much else to be present in the church.

The rest of us, in the interim, partook of a frugal repast; for in this
festal day we had to be contented with cold meat. But, on the other
hand, the best and oldest wine had been brought out of all the family
cellars; so that, in this respect at least, we celebrated the ancient
festival in ancient style.

In the square, the sight most worth seeing was now the bridge, which had
been finished, and covered with orange and white cloth; and we who had
stared at the emperor, first in his carriage and then on horseback, were
now to admire him walking on foot. Singularly enough, the last pleased
us the most; for we thought that in this way he exhibited himself both
in the most natural and in the most dignified manner.

Older persons, who were present at the coronation of Francis the First,
related that Maria Theresa, beautiful beyond measure, had looked on this
solemnity from a balcony window of the Frauenstein house, close to the
Römer. As her consort returned from the cathedral in his strange
costume, and seemed to her, so to speak, like a ghost of Charlemagne, he
had, as if in jest, raised both his hands, and shown her the imperial
globe, the sceptre, and the curious gloves, at which she had broken out
into immoderate laughter, which served for the great delight and
edification of the crowd, which was thus honored with a sight of the
good and natural matrimonial understanding between the most exalted
couple of Christendom. But when the empress, to greet her consort, waved
her handkerchief, and even shouted a loud /vivat/ to him, the
enthusiasm and exultation of the people was raised to the highest, so
that there was no end to the cheers of joy.

Now the sound of bells, and the van of the long train which gently made
its way over the many-colored bridge, announced that all was done. The
attention was greater than ever, and the procession more distinct than
before, particularly for us, since it now came directly up to us. We saw
both, and the whole of the square, which was thronged with people,
almost as if on a ground-plan. Only at the end the magnificence was too
much crowded: for the envoys; the hereditary officers; the emperor and
king, under the canopy (/Baldachin/); the three spiritual electors,
who immediately followed; the /schöffen/ and senators, dressed in
black; the gold-embroidered canopy (/Himmel/),--all seemed only one
mass, which, moved by a single will, splendidly harmonious, and thus
stepping from the temple amid the sound of the bells, beamed towards us
as something holy.

A politico-religious ceremony possesses an infinite charm. We behold
earthly majesty before our eyes, surrounded by all the symbols of its
power; but, while it bends before that of heaven, it brings to our minds
the communion of both. For even the individual can only prove his
relationship with the Deity by subjecting himself and adoring.

The rejoicings which resounded from the market-place now spread likewise
over the great square; and a boisterous /vivat/ burst forth from
thousands upon thousands of throats, and doubtless from as many hearts.
For this grand festival was to be the pledge of a lasting peace, which
indeed for many a long year actually blessed Germany.

Several days before, it had been made known by public proclamation, that
neither the bridge nor the eagle over the fountain was to be exposed to
the people, and they were therefore not, as at other times, to be
touched. This was done to prevent the mischief inevitable with such a
rush of persons. But, in order to sacrifice in some degree to the genius
of the mob, persons expressly appointed went behind the procession,
loosened the cloth from the bridge, wound it up like a flag, and threw
it into the air. This gave rise to no disaster, but to a laughable
mishap; for the cloth unrolled itself in the air, and, as it fell,
covered a larger or smaller number of persons. Those now who took hold
of the ends and drew them towards them, pulled all those in the middle
to the ground, enveloped them and teased them till they tore or cut
themselves through; and everybody, in his own way, had borne off a
corner of the stuff made sacred by the footsteps of majesty.

I did not long contemplate this rough sport, but hastened from my high
position through all sorts of little steps and passages, down to the
great Römer-stairs, where the distinguished and majestic mass, which had
been stared at from the distance, was to ascend in its undulating
course. The crowd was not great, because the entrances to the city-hall
were well garrisoned; and I fortunately reached at once the iron
balustrades above. Now the chief personages ascended past me, while
their followers remained behind in the lower arched passages; and I
could observe them on the thrice-broken stairs from all sides, and at
last quite close.

Finally both their majesties came up. Father and son were altogether
dressed like Menaechmi. The emperor's domestic robes, of purple-colored
silk, richly adorned with pearls and stones, as well as his crown,
sceptre, and imperial orb, struck the eye with good effect. For all in
them was new, and the imitation of the antique was tasteful. He moved,
too, quite easily in his attire; and his true-hearted, dignified face,
indicated at once the emperor and the father. The young king, on the
contrary, in his monstrous articles of dress, with the crown-jewels of
Charlemagne, dragged himself along as if he had been in a disguise; so
that he himself, looking at his father from time to time, could not
refrain from laughing. The crown, which it had been necessary to line a
great deal, stood out from his head like an overhanging roof. The
dalmatica, the stole, well as they had been fitted and taken in by
sewing, presented by no means an advantageous appearance. The sceptre
and imperial orb excited some admiration; but one would, for the sake of
a more princely effect, rather have seen a strong form, suited to the
dress, invested and adorned with it.

Scarcely were the gates of the great hall closed behind these figures,
than I hurried to my former place, which, being already occupied by
others, I only regained with some trouble.

It was precisely at the right time that I again took possession of my
window, for the most remarkable part of all that was to be seen in
public was just about to take place. All the people had turned towards
the Römer; and a reiterated shout of /vivat/ gave us to understand
that the emperor and king, in their vestments, were showing themselves
to the populace from the balcony of the great hall. But they were not
alone to serve as a spectacle, since another strange spectacle occurred
before their eyes. First of all, the handsome, slender hereditary
marshal flung himself upon his steed: he had laid aside his sword; in
his right hand he held a silver-handled vessel, and a tin spatula in his
left. He rode within the barriers to the great heap of oats, sprang in,
filled the vessel to overflow, smoothed it off, and carried it back
again with great dignity. The imperial stable was now provided for. The
hereditary chamberlain then rode likewise to the spot, and brought back
a basin with ewer and towel. But more entertaining for the spectators
was the hereditary carver, who came to fetch a piece of the roasted ox.
He also rode, with a silver dish, through the barriers, to the large
wooden kitchen, and came forth again with his portion covered, that he
might go back to the Römer. Now it was the turn of the hereditary cup-
bearer, who rode to the fountain and fetched wine. Thus now was the
imperial table furnished; and every eye waited upon the hereditary
treasurer, who was to throw about the money. He, too, mounted a fine
steed, to the sides of whose saddle, instead of holsters, a couple of
splendid bags, embroidered with the arms of the Palatinate, were
suspended. Scarcely had he put himself in motion than he plunged his
hands into these pockets, and generously scattered, right and left, gold
and silver coins, which, on every occasion, glittered merrily in the air
like metallic rain. A thousand hands waved instantly in the air to catch
the gifts; but hardly had the coins fallen when the crowd tumbled over
each other on the ground, and struggled violently for the pieces which
might have reached the earth. As this agitation was constantly repeated
on both sides as the giver rode forwards, it afforded the spectators a
very diverting sight. It was most lively at the close, when he threw out
the bags themselves, and everybody tried to catch this highest prize.

Their majesties had retired from the balcony; and another offering was
to be made to the mob, who, on such occasions, would rather steal the
gifts than receive them tranquilly and gratefully. The custom prevailed,
in more rude and uncouth times, of giving up to the people on the spot
the oats, as soon as the hereditary marshal had taken away his share;
the fountain and the kitchen, after the cup-bearer and the carver had
performed their offices. But this time, to guard against all mischief,
order and moderation were preserved as far as possible. But the old
malicious jokes, that when one filled a sack with oats another cut a
hole in it, with sallies of the kind, were revived. About the roasted
ox, a more serious battle was, as usual, waged on this occasion. This
could only be contested /en masse/. Two guilds, the butchers and
the wine-porters, had, according to ancient custom, again stationed
themselves so that the monstrous roast must fall to one of the two. The
butchers believed that they had the best right to an ox which they
provided entire for the kitchen: the wine-porters, on the other hand,
laid claim because the kitchen was built near the abode of their guild,
and because they had gained the victory the last time, the horns of the
captured steer still projecting from the latticed gable-window of their
guild and meeting-house as a sign of victory. Both these companies had
very strong and able members; but which of them conquered this time, I
no longer remember.

But, as a festival of this kind must always close with something
dangerous and frightful, it was really a terrible moment when the wooden
kitchen itself was made a prize. The roof of it swarmed instantly with
men, no one knowing how they got there: the boards were torn loose, and
pitched down; so that one could not help supposing, particularly at a
distance, that each would kill a few of those pressing to the spot. In a
trice the hut was unroofed; and single individuals hung to the beams and
rafters, in order to pull them also out of their joinings: nay, many
floated above upon the posts which had been already sawn off below; and
the whole skeleton, moving backwards and forwards, threatened to fall
in. Sensitive persons turned their eyes away, and everybody expected a
great calamity; but we did not hear of any mischief: and the whole
affair, though impetuous and violent, had passed off happily.

Everybody knew now that the emperor and king would return from the
cabinet, whither they had retired from the balcony, and feast in the
great hall of the Romer. We had been able to admire the arrangements
made for it, the day before; and my most anxious wish was, if possible,
to look in to-day. I repaired, therefore, by the usual path, to the
great staircase, which stands directly opposite the door of the hall.
Here I gazed at the distinguished personages who this day acted as the
servants of the head of the empire. Forty-four counts, all splendidly
dressed, passed me, carrying the dishes from the kitchen; so that the
contrast between their dignity and their occupation might well be
bewildering to a boy. The crowd was not great, but, considering the
little space, sufficiently perceptible. The hall-door was guarded, while
those who were authorized went frequently in and out. I saw one of the
Palatine domestic officials, whom I asked whether he could not take me
in with him. He did not deliberate long, but gave me one of the silver
vessels he just then bore, which he could do so much the more, as I was
neatly clad; and thus I reached the sanctuary. The Palatine buffet stood
to the left, directly by the door; and with some steps I placed myself
on the elevation of it, behind the barriers.

At the other end of the hall, immediately by the windows, raised on the
steps of the throne, and under canopies, sat the emperor and king in
their robes; but the crown and sceptre lay at some distance behind them
on gold cushions. The three spiritual electors, their buffets behind
them, had taken their places on single elevations; the Elector of Mentz
opposite their majesties, the Elector of Treves at the right, and the
Elector of Cologne at the left. This upper part of the hall was imposing
and cheerful to behold, and excited the remark that the spiritual power
likes to keep as long as possible with the ruler. On the contrary, the
buffets and tables of all the temporal electors, which were, indeed,
magnificently ornamented, but without occupants, made one think of the
misunderstanding which had gradually arisen for centuries between them
and the head of the empire. Their ambassadors had already withdrawn to
eat in a side-chamber; and if the greater part of the hall assumed a
sort of spectral appearance, by so many invisible guests being so
magnificently attended, a large unfurnished table in the middle was
still more sad to look upon; for there, also, many covers stood empty,
because all those who had certainly a right to sit there had, for
appearance' sake, kept away, that on the greatest day of honor they
might not renounce any of their honor, if, indeed, they were then to be
found in the city.

Neither my years nor the mass of present objects allowed me to make many
reflections. I strove to see all as much as possible; and when the
dessert was brought in, and the ambassadors re-entered to pay their
court, I sought the open air, and contrived to refresh myself with good
friends in the neighborhood, after a day's half-fasting, and to prepare
for the illumination in the evening.

This brilliant night I purposed celebrating in a right hearty way; for I
had agreed with Gretchen, and Pylades and his mistress, that we should
meet somewhere at nightfall. The city was already resplendent at every
end and corner when I met my beloved. I offered Gretchen my arm: we went
from one quarter to another, and found ourselves very happy in each
other's society. The cousins at first were also of our party, but were
afterwards lost in the multitude of people. Before the houses of some of
the ambassadors, where magnificent illuminations were exhibited,--those
of the Elector-Palatine were pre-eminently distinguished,--it was as
clear as day. Lest I should be recognized, I had disguised myself to a
certain extent; and Gretchen did not find it amiss. We admired the
various brilliant representations and the fairy-like structures of flame
by which each ambassador strove to outshine the others. But Prince
Esterhazy's arrangements surpassed all the rest. Our little company were
enraptured, both with the invention and the execution; and we were just
about to enjoy this in detail, when the cousins again met us, and spoke
to us of the glorious illumination with which the Brandenburg ambassador
had adorned his quarters. We were not displeased at taking the long way
from the Ross-markt (Horse-market) to the Saalhof, but found that we had
been vlllanously hoaxed.

The Saalhof is, towards the Main, a regular and handsome structure; but
the part in the direction of the city is exceedingly old, irregular, and
unsightly. Small windows, agreeing neither in form nor size, neither in
a line nor placed at equal distances; gates and doors arranged without
symmetry; a ground-floor mostly turned into shops,--it forms a confused
outside, which is never observed by any one. Now, here this accidental,
irregular, unconnected architecture had been followed; and every window,
every door, every opening, was surrounded by lamps,--as indeed can be
done with a well-built house; but here the most wretched and ill-formed
of all facades was thus quite incredibly placed in the clearest light.
Did one amuse one's self with this as with the jests of the
/pagliasso/, [Footnote: A sort of buffoon.] though not without
scruple, since everybody must recognize something intentional in it,--
just as people had before glossed on the previous external deportment of
Von Plotho, so much prized in other respects, and, when once inclined
towards him, had admired him as a wag, who, like his king, would place
himself above all ceremonies,--one nevertheless gladly returned to the
fairy kingdom of Esterhazy.

This eminent envoy, to honor the day, had quite passed over his own
unfavorably situated quarters, and in their stead had caused the great
esplanade of linden-trees in the Horse-market to be decorated in the
front with a portal illuminated with colors, and at the back with a
still more magnificent prospect. The entire enclosure was marked by
lamps. Between the trees, stood pyramids and spheres of light upon
transparent pedestals; from one tree to another were stretched
glittering garlands, on which floated suspended lights. In several
places bread and sausages were distributed among the people, and there
was no want of wine.

Here now, four abreast, we walked very comfortably up and down; and I,
by Gretchen's side, fancied that I really wandered in those happy
Elysian fields where they pluck from the trees crystal cups that
immediately fill themselves with the wine desired, and shake down fruits
that change into every dish at will. At last we also felt such a
necessity; and, conducted by Pylades, we found a neat, well-arranged
eating-house. When we encountered no more guests, since everybody was
going about the streets, we were all the better pleased, and passed the
greatest part of the night most happily and cheerfully, in the feeling
of friendship, love, and attachment. When I had accompanied Gretchen as
far as her door, she kissed me on the forehead. It was the first and
last time that she granted me this favor; for, alas! I was not to see
her again.

The next morning, while I was yet in bed, my mother entered, in trouble
and anxiety. It was easy to see when she was at all distressed. "Get
up," she said, "and prepare yourself for something unpleasant. It has
come out that you frequent very bad company, and have involved yourself
in very dangerous and bad affairs. Your father is beside himself; and we
have only been able to get thus much from him, that he will investigate
the affair by means of a third party. Remain in your chamber, and await
what may happen. Councillor Schneider will come to you: he has the
commission both from your father and from the authorities; for the
matter is already prosecuted, and may take a very bad turn."

I saw that they took the affair for much worse than it was; yet I felt
myself not a little disquieted, even if only the actual state of things
should be detected. My old "Messiah"-loving friend finally entered, with
the tears standing in his eyes: he took me by the arm, and said, "I am
heartily sorry to come to you on such an affair. I could not have
supposed that you could go astray so far. But what will not wicked
companions and bad example do! Thus can a young, inexperienced man be
led step by step into crime!"--"I am conscious of no crime," I replied,
"and as little of having frequented bad company."--"The question now is
not one of defense," said he, interrupting me, "but of investigation,
and on your part of an upright confession."--"What do you want to know?"
retorted I. He seated himself, drew out a paper, and began to question
me: "Have you not recommended N. N. to your grandfather as a candidate
for the ... place?" I answered "Yes."--"Where did you become acquainted
with him?"--"In my walks."--"In what company?" I hesitated, for I would
not willingly betray my friends. "Silence will not do now." he
continued, "for all is sufficiently known."--"What is known, then?" said
I. "That this man has been introduced to you by others like him--in
fact, by. ..." Here he named three persons whom I had never seen nor
known, which I immediately explained to the questioner. "You pretend,"
he resumed, "not to know these men, and have yet had frequent meetings
with them."--"Not in the least," I replied; "for, as I have said, except
the first, I do not know one of them, and even him I have never seen in
a house."--"Have you not often been in ... street?"--"Never," I replied.
This was not entirely conformable to the truth. I had once accompanied
Pylades to his sweetheart, who lived in that street; but we had entered
by the back-door, and remained in the summer-house. I therefore supposed
that I might permit myself the subterfuge that I had not been in the
street itself.

The good man put more questions, all of which I could answer with a
denial; for of all that he wished to learn I knew nothing. At last he
seemed to become vexed, and said, "You repay my confidence and good will
very badly: I come to save you. You cannot deny that you have composed
letters for these people themselves or for their accomplices, have
furnished them writings, and have thus been accessory to their evil
acts; for the question is of nothing less than of forged papers, false
wills, counterfeit bonds, and things of the sort. I have come, not only
as a friend of the family, I come in the name and by order of the
magistrates, who, in consideration of your connections and youth, would
spare you and some other young persons, who, like you, have been lured
into the net." I had thought it strange, that, among the persons he
named, none of those with whom I had been intimate were found. The
circumstances touched, without agreeing; and I could still hope to save
my young friends. But the good man grew more and more urgent. I could
not deny that I had come home late many nights, that I had contrived to
have a house-key made, that I had been seen at public places more than
once with persons of low rank and suspicious looks, that some girls were
mixed up in the affair,--in short, every thing seemed to be discovered
but the names. This gave me courage to persist steadfastly in my
silence. "Do not," said my excellent friend, "let me go away from you;
the affair admits of no delay; immediately after me another will come,
who will not grant you so much scope. Do not make the matter, which is
bad enough, worse by your obstinacy."

I represented very vividly to myself the good cousins, and particularly
Gretchen: I saw them arrested, tried, punished, disgraced; and then it
went through my soul like a flash of lightning, that the cousins, though
they always observed integrity towards me, might have engaged in such
bad affairs, at least the oldest, who never quite pleased me, who came
home later and later, and had little to tell of a cheerful sort. Still I
kept back my confession. "Personally," said I, "I am conscious of
nothing evil, and can rest satisfied on that side; but it is not
impossible that those with whom I have associated may have been guilty
of some daring or illegal act. They may be sought, found, convicted,
punished: I have hitherto nothing to reproach myself with, and will not
do any wrong to those who have behaved well and kindly to me." He did
not let me finish, but exclaimed, with some agitation, "Yes, they will
be found out. These villains met in three houses. (He named the streets,
he pointed out the houses, and, unfortunately, among them was the one I
used to frequent.) The first nest is already broken up, and at this
moment so are the two others. In a few hours the whole will be clear.
Avoid, by a frank confession, a judicial inquiry, a confrontation, and
all other disagreeable matters." The house was known and marked. Now I
deemed silence useless; nay, considering the innocence of our meetings,
I could hope to be still more useful to them than to myself. "Sit down!"
I exclaimed, fetching him back from the door: "I will tell all, and at
once lighten your heart and mine; only one thing I ask,--henceforth let
there be no doubt of my veracity."

I soon told my friend the whole progress of the affair, and was at first
calm and collected; but the more I brought to mind and pictured to
myself the persons, objects, and events, so many innocent pleasures and
charming enjoyments, and was forced to depose as before a criminal
court, the more did the most painful feeling increase, so that at last I
burst forth in tears, and gave myself up to unrestrained passion. The
family friend, who hoped that now the real secret was coming to light
(for he regarded my distress as a symptom that I was on the point of
confessing with repugnance something monstrous), sought to pacify me; as
with him the discovery was the all-important matter. In this he only
partly succeeded; but so far, however, that I could eke out my story to
the end. Though satisfied of the innocence of the proceedings, he was
still doubtful to some extent, and put further questions to me, which
excited me afresh, and transported me with pain and rage. I asserted,
finally, that I had nothing more to say, and well knew that I need fear
nothing, for I was innocent, of a good family, and well reputed; but
that they might be just as guiltless without having it recognized, or
being otherwise favored. I declared at the same time, that if they were
not spared like myself, that if their follies were not regarded with
indulgence, and their faults pardoned, that if any thing in the least
harsh or unjust happened to them, I would do some violence to myself,
and no one should prevent me. In this, too, my friend tried to pacify
me; but I did not trust him, and was, when he quitted me at last, in a
most terrible state. I now reproached myself for having told the affair,
and brought all the positions to light. I foresaw that our childlike
actions, our youthful inclinations and confidences, would be quite
differently interpreted, and that I might perhaps involve the excellent
Pylades in the matter, and render him very unhappy. All these images
pressed vividly one after the other before my soul, sharpened and
spurred my distress, so that I did not know what to do for sorrow. I
cast myself at full length upon the floor, and moistened it with my
tears.

I know not how long I may have lain, when my sister entered, was
frightened at my gestures, and did all that she could to comfort me. She
told me that a person connected with the magistracy had waited below
with my father for the return of the family friend, and that, after they
had been closeted together for some time, both the gentlemen had
departed, had talked to each other with apparent satisfaction, and had
even laughed. She believed that she had heard the words, "It is all
right: the affair is of no consequence."--"Indeed!" I broke out, "the
affair is of no consequence for me,--for us: for I have committed no
crime; and, if I had, they would contrive to help me through: but the
others, the others," I cried, "who will stand by them?"

My sister tried to comfort me by circumstantially arguing that if those
of higher rank were to be saved, a veil must also be cast over the
faults of the more lowly. All this was of no avail. She had scarcely
left than I again abandoned myself to my grief, and ever recalled
alternately the images, both of my affection and passion, and of the
present and possible misfortune. I repeated to myself tale after tale,
saw only unhappiness following unhappiness, and did not fail in
particular to make Gretchen and myself truly wretched.

The family friend had ordered me to remain in my room, and have nothing
to do with any one but the family. This was just what I wanted, for I
found myself best alone. My mother and sister came to see me from time
to time, and did not fail to assist me vigorously with all sorts of good
consolation; nay, even on the second day they came in the name of my
father, who was now better informed, to offer me a perfect amnesty,
which indeed I gratefully accepted: but the proposal that I should go
out with him and look at the insignia of the empire, which were now
exposed to the curious, I stubbornly rejected; and I asserted that I
wanted to know nothing, either of the world or of the Roman Empire, till
I was informed how that distressing affair, which for me could have no
further consequences, had turned out for my poor acquaintance. They had
nothing to say on this head, and left me alone. Yet the next day some
further attempts were made to get me out of the house, and excite in me
a sympathy for the public ceremonies. In vain! neither the great
galaday, nor what happened on the occasion of so many elevations of
rank, nor the public table of the emperor and king,--in short, nothing
could move me. The Elector of the Palatinate might come and wait on both
their majesties; these might visit the electors; the last electoral
sitting might be attended for the despatch of business in arrear, and
the renewal of the electoral union,--nothing could call me forth from my
passionate solitude. I let the bells ring for the rejoicings, the
emperor repair to the Capuchin Church, the electors and emperor depart,
without on that account moving one step from my chamber. The final
cannonading, immoderate as it might be, did not arouse me; and as the
smoke of the powder dispersed, and the sound died away, so had all this
glory vanished from my soul.

I now experienced no satisfaction except in ruminating on my misery, and
in a thousand-fold imaginary multiplication of it. My whole inventive
faculty, my poetry and rhetoric, had pitched on this diseased spot, and
threatened, precisely by means of this vitality, to involve body and
soul into an incurable disorder. In this melancholy condition nothing
more seemed to me worth a desire, nothing worth a wish. An infinite
yearning, indeed, seized me at times to know how it had gone with my
poor friends and my beloved, what had been the result of a stricter
scrutiny, how far they were implicated in those crimes, or had been
found guiltless. This also I circumstantially painted to myself in the
most various ways, and did not fail to hold them as innocent and truly
unfortunate. Sometimes I longed to see myself freed from this
uncertainty, and wrote vehemently threatening letters to the family
friend, insisting that he should not withhold from me the further
progress of the affair. Sometimes I tore them up again, from the fear of
learning my unhappiness quite distinctly, and of losing the principal
consolation with which hitherto I had alternately tormented and
supported myself.

Thus I passed both day and night in great disquiet, in raving and
lassitude; so that I felt happy at last when a bodily illness seized me
with considerable violence, when they had to call in the help of a
physician, and think of every way to quiet me. They supposed that they
could do it generally by the sacred assurance that all who were more or
less involved in the guilt had been treated with the greatest
forbearance; that my nearest friends, being as good as innocent, had
been dismissed with a slight reprimand; and that Gretchen had retired
from the city, and had returned to her own home. They lingered the most
over this last point, and I did not take it in the best part; for I
could discover in it, not a voluntary departure, but only a shameful
banishment. My bodily and mental condition was not improved by this: my
distress now only augmented; and I had time enough to torment myself by
picturing the strangest romance of sad events, and an inevitably
tragical catastrophe.



PART THE SECOND.

OF WHAT ONE WISHES IN YOUTH, WHEN OLD HE HAS IN ABUNDANCE.

SIXTH BOOK.

Thus I felt urged alternately to promote and to retard my recovery; and
a certain secret chagrin was now added to my other sensations, for I
plainly perceived that I was watched, that they were loath to hand me
any sealed paper without taking notice what effect it produced, whether
I kept it secret, whether I laid it down open and the like. I therefore
conjectured that Pylades, or one of the cousins, or even Gretchen
herself, might have attempted to write to me, either to give or to
obtain information. In addition to my sorrow, I was now more cross than
hitherto, and had again fresh opportunities to exercise my conjectures,
and to mislead myself into the strangest combinations.

It was not long before they gave me a special overseer. Fortunately it
was a man whom I loved and valued. He had held the place of tutor in the
family of one of our friends, and his former pupil had gone alone to the
university. He often visited me in my sad condition; and they at last
found nothing more natural than to give him a chamber next to mine, as
he was then to provide me with employment, pacify me, and, as I was well
aware, keep his eye on me. Still, as I esteemed him from my heart, and
had already confided many things to him, though not my affection for
Gretchen, I determined so much the more to be perfectly candid and
straightforward with him; as it was intolerable to me to live in daily
intercourse with any one, and at the same time to stand on an uncertain,
constrained footing with him. It was not long, then, before I spoke to
him about the matter, refreshed myself by the relation and repetition of
the minutest circumstances of my past happiness, and thus gained so
much, that he, like a sensible man, saw it would be better to make me
acquainted with the issue of the story, and that, too, in its details
and particulars, so that I might be clear as to the whole, and that,
with earnestness and zeal, I might be persuaded of the necessity of
composing myself, throwing the past behind me, and beginning a new life.
First he confided to me who the other young people of quality were who
had allowed themselves to be seduced, at the outset, into daring hoaxes,
then into sportive breaches of police, afterwards into frolicsome
impositions on others, and other such dangerous matters. Thus actually
had arisen a little conspiracy, which unprincipled men had joined, who,
by forging papers and counterfeiting signatures, had perpetrated many
criminal acts, and had still more criminal matters in preparation. The
cousins, for whom I at last impatiently inquired, had been found to be
quite innocent, only very generally acquainted with those others, and
not at all implicated with them. My client, owing to my recommendation
of whom I had been tracked, was one of the worst, and had sued for that
office chiefly that he might undertake or conceal certain villanies.
After all this, I could at last contain myself no longer, and asked what
had become of Gretchen, for whom I, once for all, confessed the
strongest attachment. My friend shook his head and smiled. "Make
yourself easy," replied he: "this girl has passed her examination very
well, and has borne off honorable testimony to that effect. They could
discover nothing in her but what was good and amiable: she even won the
favor of those who questioned her, and could not refuse her desire of
removing from the city. Even what she has confessed regarding you, my
friend, does her honor: I have read her deposition in the secret reports
myself, and seen her signature."--"The signature!" exclaimed I, "which
makes me so happy and so miserable. What has she confessed, then? What
has she signed?" My friend delayed answering, but the cheerfulness of
his face showed me that he concealed nothing dangerous." If you must
know, then," replied he at last, "when she was asked about you, and her
intercourse with you, she said quite frankly, 'I cannot deny that I have
seen him often and with pleasure; but I have always treated him as a
child, and my affection for him was truly that of a sister. In many
cases I have given him good advice; and, instead of instigating him to
any equivocal action, I have hindered him from taking part in wanton
tricks, which might have brought him into trouble.'"

My friend still went on making Gretchen speak like a governess; but I
had already for some time ceased to listen to him, for I was terribly
affronted that she had set me down in the reports as a child, and
believed myself at once cured of all passion for her. I even hastily
assured my friend that all was now over. I also spoke no more of her,
named her no more: but I could not leave off the bad habit of thinking
about her, and of recalling her form, her air, her demeanor; though now,
in fact, all appeared to me in quite another light. I felt it
intolerable that a girl, at the most only a couple of years older than
me, should regard me as a child; while I conceived I passed with her for
a very sensible and clever youth. Her cold and repelling manner, which
had before so charmed me, now seemed to me quite repugnant: the
familiarities which she had allowed herself to take with me, but had not
permitted me to return, were altogether odious. Yet all would have been
well enough, if by signing that poetical love-letter, in which she had
confessed a formal attachment to me, she had not given me a right to
regard her as a sly and selfish coquette. Her masquerading it at the
milliner's, too, no longer seemed to me so innocent; and I turned these
annoying reflections over and over within myself until I had entirely
stripped her of all her amiable qualities. My judgment was convinced,
and I thought I must cast her away; but her image!--her image gave me
the lie as often as it again hovered before me, which indeed happened
often enough.

Nevertheless, this arrow with its barbed hooks was torn out of my heart;
and the question then was, how the inward sanative power of youth could
be brought to one's aid? I really put on the man; and the first thing
instantly laid aside was the weeping and raving, which I now regarded as
childish in the highest degree. A great stride for the better! For I had
often, half the night through, given myself up to this grief with the
greatest violence; so that at last, from my tears and sobbing, I came to
such a point that I could scarcely swallow any longer; eating and
drinking became painful to me; and my chest, which was so nearly
concerned, seemed to suffer. The vexation I had constantly felt since
the discovery made me banish every weakness. It seemed to me something
frightful that I had sacrificed sleep, repose, and health for the sake
of a girl who was pleased to consider me a babe, and to imagine herself,
with respect to me, something very much like a nurse.

These depressing reflections, as I was soon convinced, were only to be
banished by activity; but of what was I to take hold? I had, indeed,
much to make up for in many things, and to prepare myself, in more than
one sense, for the university, which I was now to attend; but I relished
and accomplished nothing. Much appeared to me familiar and trivial: for
grounding myself, in several respects, I found neither strength within
nor opportunity without; and I therefore suffered myself to be moved by
the taste of my good room-neighbor, to a study which was altogether new
and strange to me, and which for a long time offered me a wide field of
information and thought. For my friend began to make me acquainted with
the secrets of philosophy. He had studied in Jena, under Daries, and,
possessing a well-regulated mind, had acutely seized the relations of
that doctrine, which he now sought to impart to me. But, unfortunately,
these things would not hang together in such a fashion in my brain. I
put questions, which he promised to answer afterwards: I made demands,
which he promised to satisfy in future. But our most important
difference was this: that I maintained a separate philosophy was not
necessary, as the whole of it was already contained in religion and
poetry. This he would by no means allow, but rather tried to prove to me
that these must first be founded on philosophy; which I stubbornly
denied, and, at every step in the progress of our discussions, found
arguments for my opinion. For as in poetry a certain faith in the
impossible, and as in religion a like faith in the inscrutable, must
have a place, the philosophers appeared to me to be in a very false
position who would demonstrate and explain both of them from their own
field of vision. Besides, it was very quickly proved, from the history
of philosophy, that one always sought a ground different from that of
the other, and that the sceptic, in the end, pronounced every thing
groundless and useless.

However, this very history of philosophy, which my friend was compelled
to go over with me, because I could learn nothing from dogmatical
discourse, amused me very much, but only on this account, that one
doctrine or opinion seemed to me as good as another, so far, at least,
as I was capable of penetrating into it. With the most ancient men and
schools I was best pleased, because poetry, religion, and philosophy
were completely combined into one; and I only maintained that first
opinion of mine with the more animation, when the Book of Job and the
Song and Proverbs of Solomon, as well as the lays of Orpheus and Hesiod,
seemed to bear valid witness in its favor. My friend had taken the
smaller work of Brucker as the foundation of his discourse; and, the
farther we went on, the less I could make of it. I could not clearly see
what the first Greek philosophers would have. Socrates I esteemed as an
excellent, wise man, who in his life and death might well be compared
with Christ. His disciples, on the other hand, seemed to me to bear a
strong resemblance to the apostles, who disagreed immediately after
their Master's death, when each manifestly recognized only a limited
view as the right one. Neither the keenness of Aristotle nor the fulness
of Plato produced the least fruit in me. For the Stoics, on the
contrary, I had already conceived some affection, and even procured
Epictetus, whom I studied with much interest. My friend unwillingly let
me have my way in this one-sidedness, from which he could not draw me;
for, in spite of his varied studies, he did not know how to bring the
leading question into a narrow compass. He need only have said to me
that in life action is every thing, and that joy and sorrow come of
themselves. However, youth should be allowed its own course: it does not
stick to false maxims very long; life soon tears or charms it away
again.

The season had become fine: we often went together into the open air,
and visited the places of amusement which surrounded the city in great
numbers. But it was precisely here that matters went worse with me; for
I still saw the ghosts of the cousins everywhere, and feared, now here,
now there, to see one of them step forward. Even the most indifferent
glances of men annoyed me. I had lost that unconscious happiness of
wandering about unknown and unblamed, and of thinking of no observer,
even in the greatest crowds. Now hypochondriacal fancies began to
torment me, as if I attracted the attention of the people, as if their
eyes were turned on my demeanor, to fix it on their memories, to scan
and to find fault.

I therefore drew my friend into the woods; and, while I shunned the
monotonous firs, I sought those fine leafy groves, which do not indeed
spread far in the district, but are yet of sufficient compass for a poor
wounded heart to hide itself. In the remotest depth of the forest I
sought out a solemn spot, where the oldest oaks and beeches formed a
large, noble, shaded space. The ground was somewhat sloping, and made
the worth of the old trunks only the more perceptible. Round this open
circle closed the densest thickets, from which the mossy rocks mightily
and venerably peered forth, and made a rapid fall for a copious brook.

Scarcely had I dragged hither my friend, who would rather have been in
the open country by the stream, among men, when he playfully assured me
that I showed myself a true German. He related to me circumstantially,
out of Tacitus, how our ancestors found pleasure in the feelings which
Nature so provides for us, in such solitudes, with her inartificial
architecture. He had not been long discoursing of this, when I
exclaimed, "Oh! why did not this precious spot lie in a deeper
wilderness! why may we not train a hedge around it, to hallow and
separate from the world both it and ourselves! Surely there is no more
beautiful adoration of the Deity than that which needs no image, but
which springs up in our bosom merely from the intercourse with nature!"
What I then felt is still present to my mind: what I said I know not how
to recall. Thus much, however, is certain, that the undetermined, widely
expanding feelings of youth and of uncultivated nations are alone
adapted to the sublime, which, if it is to be excited in us through
external objects, formless, or moulded into incomprehensible forms, must
surround us with a greatness to which we are not equal.

All men, more or less, have such a disposition, and seek to satisfy this
noble want in various ways. But as the sublime is easily produced by
twilight and night, when objects are blended, it is, on the other hand,
scared away by the day, which separates and sunders every thing; and so
must it also be destroyed by every increase of cultivation, if it be not
fortunate enough to take refuge with the beautiful, and unite itself
closely with it, whereby both become equally undying and indestructible.

The brief moments of such enjoyments were still more shortened by my
meditative friend: but, when I turned back into the world, it was
altogether in vain that I sought, among the bright and barren objects
around, again to arouse such feelings within me; nay, I could scarcely
retain even the remembrance of them. My heart, however, was too far
spoiled to be able to compose itself: it had loved, and the object was
snatched away from it; it had lived, and life to it was embittered. A
friend who makes it too perceptible that he designs to improve you,
excites no feeling of comfort; while a woman who is forming you, while
she seems to spoil you, is adored as a heavenly, joy-bringing being. But
that form in which the idea of beauty manifested itself to me had
vanished into distance; it often visited me under the shade of my oak-
trees, but I could not hold it fast: and I felt a powerful impulse to
seek something similar in the distance.

I had imperceptibly accustomed, nay, compelled, my friend and overseer
to leave me alone; for, even in my sacred grove, those undefined,
gigantic feelings were not sufficient for me. The eye was, above all
others, the organ by which I seized the world. I had, from childhood,
lived among painters, and had accustomed myself to look at objects, as
they did, with reference to art. Now I was left to myself and to
solitude, this gift, half natural, half acquired, made its appearance.
Wherever I looked, I saw a picture; and whatever struck me, whatever
gave me delight, I wished to fix, and began, in the most awkward manner,
to draw after nature. To this end I lacked nothing less than every
thing; yet, though without any technical means, I obstinately persisted
in trying to imitate the most magnificent things that offered themselves
to my sight. Thus, to be sure, I acquired the faculty of paying a great
attention to objects; but I only seized them as a whole, so far as they
produced an effect: and, little as Nature had meant me for a descriptive
poet, just as little would she grant me the capacity of a draughtsman
for details. This, however, being the only way left me of uttering my
thoughts, I stuck to it with so much stubbornness, nay, even with
melancholy, that I always continued my labors the more zealously the
less I saw they produced.

But I will not deny that there was a certain mixture of roguery; for I
had remarked, that if I chose for an irksome study a half-shaded old
trunk, to the hugely curved roots of which clung well-lit fern, combined
with twinkling maiden-hair, my friend, who knew from experience that I
should not be disengaged in less than an hour, commonly resolved to
seek, with his books, some other pleasant little spot. Now nothing
disturbed me in prosecuting my taste, which was so much the more active,
as my paper was endeared to me by the circumstance that I had accustomed
myself to see in it, not so much what stood upon it, as what I had been
thinking of at any time and hour when I drew. Thus plants and flowers of
the commonest kind may form a charming diary for us, because nothing
that calls back the remembrance of a happy moment can be insignificant;
and even now it would be hard for me to destroy as worthless many things
of the kind that have remained to me from different epochs, because they
transport me immediately to those times which I like to remember,
although not without melancholy.

But, if such drawings may have had any thing of interest in themselves,
they were indebted for this advantage to the sympathy and attention of
my father. He, informed by my overseer that I had become gradually
reconciled to my condition, and, in particular, had applied myself
passionately to drawing from nature, was very well satisfied,--partly
because he himself set a high value on drawing and painting, partly
because gossip Seekatz had once said to him, that it was a pity I was
not destined for a painter. But here again the peculiarities of father
and son came into conflict: for it was almost impossible for me to make
use of a good, white, perfectly clean sheet of paper; gray old leaves,
even if scribbled over on one side already, charmed me most, just as if
my awkwardness had feared the touchstone of a white ground. Nor were any
of my drawings quite finished; and how should I have executed a whole,
which indeed I saw with my eyes, but did not comprehend, and how an
individual object, which I had neither skill nor patience to follow out?
My father's mode of training me in this respect was really to be
admired. He kindly asked for my attempts, and drew lines round every
imperfect sketch. He wished, by this means, to compel me to completeness
and fulness of detail. The irregular leaves he cut straight, and thus
made the beginning of a collection, in which he wished, at some future
time, to rejoice at the progress of his son. It was, therefore, by no
means disagreeable to him when my wild, restless disposition sent me
roving about the country: he rather seemed pleased when I brought back a
parcel of drawings on which he could exercise his patience, and in some
measure strengthen his hopes.

They no longer said that I might relapse into my former attachments and
connections: they left me by degrees perfect liberty. By accidental
inducements and in accidental society I undertook many journeys to the
mountain-range, which, from my childhood, had stood so distant and
solemn before me. Thus we visited Homburg, Kroneburg, ascended the
Feldberg, from which the prospect invited us still farther and farther
into the distance. Königstein, too, was not left unvisited; Wiesbaden,
Schwalbach, with its environs, occupied us many days; we reached the
Rhine, which, from the heights, we had seen winding along far off. Mentz
astonished us, but could not chain a youthful mind which was running
into the open country; we were delighted with the situation of Biberich;
and, contented and happy, we resumed our journey home.

This whole tour, from which my father had promised himself many a
drawing, might have been almost without fruit; for what taste, what
talent, what experience, does it not require to seize an extensive
landscape as a picture! I was again imperceptibly drawn into a narrow
compass, from which I derived some profit; for I met no ruined castle,
no piece of wall which pointed to antiquity, that I did not think an
object worthy of my pencil, and imitate as well as I could. Even the
stone of Drusus, on the ramparts of Mentz, I copied at some risk, and
with inconveniences which every one must experience who wishes to carry
home with him some pictorial reminiscences of his travels. Unfortunately
I had again brought with me nothing but the most miserable common paper,
and had clumsily crowded several objects into one sheet. But my paternal
teacher was not perplexed at this: he cut the sheets apart; had the
parts which belonged to each other put together by the bookbinder;
surrounded the single leaves with lines; and thus actually compelled me
to draw the outline of different mountains up to the margin, and to fill
up the foreground with some weeds and stones.

If his faithful endeavors could not increase my talent, nevertheless
this mark of his love of order had upon me a secret influence, which
afterwards manifested itself vigorously in more ways than one.

From such rambling excursions, undertaken partly for pleasure, partly
for art, and which could be performed in a short time, and often
repeated, I was again drawn home, and that by a magnet which always
acted upon me strongly: this was my sister. She, only a year younger
than I, had lived the whole conscious period of my life with me, and was
thus bound to me by the closest ties. To these natural causes was added
a forcible motive, which proceeded from our domestic position: a father
certainly affectionate and well-meaning, but grave, who, because he
cherished within a very tender heart, externally, with incredible
consistency, maintained a brazen sternness, that he might attain the end
of giving his children the best education, and of building up,
regulating, and preserving his well-founded house; a mother, on the
other hand, as yet almost a child, who first grew up to consciousness
with and in her two eldest children; these three, as they looked at the
world with healthy eyes, capable of life, and desiring present
enjoyment. This contradiction floating in the family increased with
years. My father followed out his views unshaken and uninterrupted: the
mother and children could not give up their feelings, their claims,
their wishes.

Under these circumstances it was natural that brother and sister should
attach themselves close to each other, and adhere to their mother, that
they might singly snatch the pleasures forbidden as a whole. But since
the hours of solitude and toil were very long compared with the moments
of recreation and enjoyment, especially for my sister, who could never
leave the house for so long a time as I could, the necessity she felt
for entertaining herself with me was still sharpened by the sense of
longing with which she accompanied me to a distance.

And as, in our first years, playing and learning, growth and education,
had been quite common to both of us, so that we might well have been
taken for twins, so did this community, this confidence, remain during
the development of our physical and moral powers. That interest of
youth; that amazement at the awakening of sensual impulses which clothe
themselves in mental forms; of mental necessities which clothe
themselves in sensual images; all the reflections upon these, which
obscure rather than enlighten us, as the fog covers over and does not
illumine the vale from which it is about to rise; the many errors and
aberrations springing therefrom,--all these the brother and sister
shared and endured hand in hand, and were the less enlightened as to
their strange condition, as the nearer they wished to approach each
other, to clear up their minds, the more forcibly did the sacred awe of
their close relationship keep them apart

Reluctantly do I mention, in a general way, what I undertook to set
forth years ago, without being able to accomplish it. As I lost this
beloved, incomprehensible being but too soon, I felt inducement enough
to make her worth present to me: and thus arose in me the conception of
a poetic whole, in which it might be possible to exhibit her
individuality; but for this no other form could be devised than that of
the Richardsonian novels. Only by the minutest detail, by endless
particularities which bear vividly all the character of the whole, and,
as they spring up from a wonderful depth, give some feeling of that
depth,--only in such a manner would it have been in some degree possible
to give a representation of this remarkable personality; for the spring
can be apprehended only while it is flowing. But from this beautiful and
pious design, as from so many others, the tumult of the world drew me
away; and nothing now remains for me but to call up for a moment that
blessed spirit, as if by the aid of a magic mirror.

She was tall, well and delicately formed, and had something naturally
dignified in her demeanor, which melted away into a pleasing mildness.
The lineaments of her face, neither striking nor beautiful, indicated a
character which was not nor ever could be in union with itself. Her eyes
were not the finest I have ever seen, but the deepest, behind which you
expected the most; and when they expressed any affection, any love,
their brilliancy was unequalled. And yet, properly speaking, this
expression was not tender, like that which comes from the heart, and at
the same time carries with it something of longing and desire: this
expression came from the soul; it was full and rich; it seemed as if it
would only give, without needing to receive.

But what in a manner quite peculiar disfigured her face, so that she
would often appear positively ugly, was the fashion of those times,
which not only bared the forehead, but, either accidentally or on
purpose, did every thing apparently or really to enlarge it. Now, as she
had the most feminine, most perfect arched forehead, and, moreover, a
pair of strong black eyebrows, and prominent eyes, these circumstances
occasioned a contrast, which, if it did not repel every stranger at the
first glance, at least did not attract him. She early felt it; and this
feeling became constantly the more painful to her, the farther she
advanced into the years when both sexes find an innocent pleasure in
being mutually agreeable.

To nobody can his own form be repugnant; the ugliest, as well as the
most beautiful, has a right to enjoy his own presence: and as favor
beautifies, and every one regards himself in the looking-glass with
favor, it may be asserted that every one must see himself with
complacency, even if he would struggle against the feeling. Yet my
sister had such a decided foundation of good sense, that she could not
possibly be blind and silly in this respect; on the contrary, she
perhaps knew more clearly than she ought, that she stood far behind her
female playfellows in external beauty, without feeling consoled by the
fact that she infinitely surpassed them in internal advantages.

If a woman can find compensation for the want of beauty, she richly
found it in the unbounded confidence, the regard and love, which all her
female friends bore to her; whether they were older or younger, all
cherished the same sentiments. A very pleasant society had collected
around her: young men were not wanting who knew how to insinuate
themselves; nearly every girl found an admirer; she alone had remained
without a partner. While, indeed, her exterior was in some measure
repulsive, the mind that gleamed through it was also more repelling than
attractive; for the presence of any excellence throws others back upon
themselves. She felt this sensibly: she did not conceal it from me, and
her love was directed to me with so much the greater force. The case was
singular enough. As confidants to whom one reveals a love-affair
actually by genuine sympathy become lovers also, nay, grow into rivals,
and at last, perchance, transfer the passion to themselves; so it was
with us two: for, when my connection with Gretchen was torn asunder, my
sister consoled me the more earnestly, because she secretly felt the
satisfaction of having gotten rid of a rival; and I, too, could not but
feel a quiet, half-mischievous pleasure, when she did me the justice to
assure me that I was the only one who truly loved, understood, and
esteemed her. If now, from time to time, my grief for the loss of
Gretchen revived, and I suddenly began to weep, to lament, and to act in
a disorderly manner, my despair for my lost one awakened in her likewise
a similar despairing impatience as to the never-possessings, the
failures, and miscarriages of such youthful attachments, that we both
thought ourselves infinitely unhappy, and the more so, as, in this
singular case, the confidants could not change themselves into lovers.

Fortunately, however, the capricious god of love, who needlessly does so
much mischief, here for once interfered beneficially, to extricate us
out of all perplexity. I had much intercourse with a young Englishman
who was educated in Pfeil's boarding-school. He could give a good
account of his own language: I practised it with him, and thus learned
much concerning his country and people. He went in and out of our house
long enough without my remarking in him a liking for my sister; yet he
may have been nourishing it in secret, even to passion, for at last it
declared itself unexpectedly and at once. She knew him, she esteemed
him, and he deserved it. She had often made the third at our English
conversations: we had both tried to catch from his mouth the
irregularities of the English pronunciation, and thereby accustomed
ourselves, not only to the peculiarities of its accent and sound, but
even to what was most peculiar in the personal qualities of our teacher;
so that at last it sounded strangely enough when we all seemed to speak
as if out of one mouth. The pains he took to learn as much German from
us in the like manner were to no purpose; and I think I have remarked
that even this little love-affair was also, both orally and in writing,
carried on in the English language. Both the young persons were very
well suited to each other: he was tall and well built, as she was, only
still more slender; his face, small and compact, might really have been
pretty, had it not been too much disfigured by the small-pox; his manner
was calm, precise,--one might often have called it dry and cold; but his
heart was full of kindness and love, his soul full of generosity, and
his attachments as lasting as they were decided and controlled. Now,
this serious pair, who had but lately formed an attachment, were quite
peculiarly distinguished among the others, who, being already better
acquainted with each other, of more frivolous character, and careless as
to the future, roved about with levity in these connections, which
commonly pass away as the mere fruitless prelude to subsequent and more
serious ties, and very seldom produce a lasting effect upon life.

The fine weather and the beautiful country did not remain unenjoyed by
so lively a company: water-excursions were frequently arranged, because
these are the most sociable of all parties of pleasure. Yet, whether we
were going by water or by land, the individual attracting powers
immediately showed themselves; each couple kept together: and for some
men who were not engaged, of whom I was one, there remained either no
conversation with the ladies at all, or only such as no one would have
chosen for a day of pleasure. A friend who found himself in this
situation, and who might have been in want of a partner chiefly for this
reason, that, with, the best humor, he lacked tenderness, and, with much
intelligence, that delicate attention, without which connections of this
kind are not to be thought of,--this man, after often humorously and
wittily lamenting his condition, promised at the next meeting to make a
proposal which would benefit himself and the whole company. Nor did he
fail to perform his promise; for when, after a brilliant trip by water,
and a very pleasant walk, reclining on the grass between shady knolls,
or sitting on mossy rocks and roots of trees, we had cheerfully and
happily consumed a rural meal, and our friend saw us all cheerful and in
good spirits, he, with a waggish dignity, commanded us to sit close
round him in a semicircle, before which he stepped, and began to make an
emphatic peroration as follows:--

"Most worthy friends of both sexes, paired and unpaired!"--It was
already evident from this address, how necessary it was that a preacher
of repentance should arise, and sharpen the conscience of the company.
"One part of my noble friends is paired, and they may find themselves
quite happy; another unpaired, and these find themselves in the highest
degree miserable, as I can assure you from my own experience: and
although the loving couples are here in the majority, yet I would have
them consider whether it is not a social duty to take thought for the
whole. Why do we wish to assemble in such numbers, except to take a
mutual interest in each other? and how can that be done when so many
little secessions are to be seen in our circle? Far be it from me to
insinuate any thing against such sweet connections, or even to wish to
disturb them; but 'there is a time for all things,'--an excellent great
saying, of which, indeed, nobody thinks when his own amusement is
sufficiently provided for."

He then went on with constantly increasing liveliness and gayety to
compare the social virtues with the tender sentiments. "The latter,"
said he, "can never fail us; we always carry them about with us, and
every one becomes a master in them without practice: but we must go in
quest of the former, we must take some trouble about them; and, though
we progress in them as much as we will, we have never done learning
them." Now he went into particulars. Many felt hit off, and they could
not help casting glances at each other: yet our friend had this
privilege, that nothing he did was taken ill; and so he could proceed
without interruption.

"It is not enough to discover deficiencies: indeed, it is unjust to do
so, if at the same time one cannot contrive to give the means for
bettering the state of affairs. I will not, therefore, my friends,
something like a preacher in Passion Week, exhort you in general terms
to repentance and amendment: I rather wish all amiable couples the
longest and most enduring happiness; and, to contribute to it myself in
the surest manner, I propose to sever and abolish these most charming
little segregations during our social hours. I have," he continued,
"already provided for the execution of my project, if it should meet
your approbation. Here is a bag in which are the names of the gentlemen:
now draw, my fair ones, and be pleased to favor as your servant, for a
week, him whom fate shall send you. This is binding only within our
circle; as soon as that is broken up, these connections are also
abolished, and the heart may decide who shall attend you home."

A great part of the company had been delighted with this address, and
the manner in which he delivered it, and seemed to approve of the
notion; yet some couples looked at each other as if they thought that it
would not answer their purpose: he therefore cried with humorous
vehemence,--

"Truly! it surprises me that some one does not spring up, and, though
others hesitate, extol my plan, explain its advantages, and spare me the
pain of being my own encomiast. I am the oldest among you: may God
forgive me for that! Already have I a bald pate, which is owing to my
great meditation."--

Here he took off his hat--

"But I should expose it to view with joy and honor if my lucubrations,
which dry up my skin, and rob me of my finest adornment, could only be
in some measure beneficial to myself and others. We are young, my
friends,--that is good; we shall grow older,--that is bad; we take
little offence at each other,--that is right, and in accordance with the
season. But soon, my friends, the days will come when we shall have much
to be displeased at in ourselves; then, let every one see that he makes
all right with himself; but, at the same time, others will take things
ill of us, and on what account we shall not understand; for this we must
prepare ourselves; this shall now be done."

He had delivered the whole speech, but especially the last part, with
the tone and gesture of a Capuchin; for, as he was a Catholic, he might
have had abundant opportunity to study the oratory of these fathers. He
now appeared out of breath, wiped his youthful, bald head, which really
gave him the look of a priest, and by these drolleries put the light-
hearted company in such good humor that every one was eager to hear him
longer. But, instead of proceeding, he drew open the bag, and turned to
the nearest lady. "Now for a trial of it!" exclaimed he: "the work will
do credit to the master. If in a week's time we do not like it, we will
give it up, and stick to the old plan."

Half willingly, half on compulsion, the ladies drew their tickets; and
it was easy to see that various passions were in play during this little
affair. Fortunately it happened that the merry-minded were separated,
while the more serious remained together, and so, too, my sister kept
her Englishman; which, on both sides, they took very kindly of the god
of Love and Luck. The new chance-couples were immediately united by the
/Antistes/, their healths were drank, and to all the more joy was
wished, as its duration was to be but short. This was certainly the
merriest moment that our company had enjoyed for a long time. The young
men to whose share no lady had fallen, held, for this week, the office
of providing for the mind, the soul, and the body, as our orator
expressed himself, but especially, he hinted, for the soul, since both
the others already knew how to help themselves.

These masters of ceremonies, who wished at once to do themselves credit,
brought into play some very pretty new games, prepared at some distance
a supper, which we had not reckoned on, and illuminated the yacht on our
return at night, although there was no necessity for it in the bright
moonlight; but they excused themselves by saying that it was quite
conformable to the new social regulation to outshine the tender glances
of the heavenly moon by earthly candles. The moment we touched the
shore, our Solon cried, "/Ite, missa est!/" Each one now handed out
of the vessel the lady who had fallen to him by lot, and then
surrendered her to her proper partner, on receiving his own in exchange.

At our next meeting this weekly regulation was established for the
summer, and the lots were drawn once more. There was no question but
that this pleasantry gave a new and unexpected turn to the company; and
every one was stimulated to display whatever of wit and grace was in
him, and to pay court to his temporary fair one in the most obliging
manner, since he might depend on having a sufficient store of
complaisance for one week at least.

We had scarcely settled down, when, instead of thanking our orator, we
reproached him for having kept to himself the best part of his speech,--
the conclusion. He thereupon protested that the best part of a speech
was persuasion, and that he who did not aim at persuasion should make no
speech; for, as to conviction, that was a ticklish business. As,
however, they gave him no peace, he began a Capuchinade on the spot,
more comical than ever, perhaps, for the very reason that he took it
into his head to speak on the most serious subjects. For with texts out
of the Bible, which had nothing to do with the business; with similes
which did not fit; with allusions which illustrated nothing,--he carried
out the proposition, that whosoever does not know how to conceal his
passions, inclinations, wishes, purposes, and plans, will come to no
good in the world, but will be disturbed and made a butt in every end
and corner; and that especially if one would be happy in love, one must
take pains to keep it a most profound secret.

This thought ran through the whole, without, properly speaking, a single
word of it being said. If you would form a conception of this singular
man, let it be considered, that, being born with a good foundation, he
had cultivated his talents, and especially his acuteness, in Jesuit
schools, and had amassed an extensive knowledge of the world and of men,
but only on the bad side. He was some two and twenty years old, and
would gladly have made me a proselyte to his contempt for mankind; but
this would not take with me, as I always had a great desire to be good
myself, and to find good in others. Meanwhile, I was by him made
attentive to many things.

To complete the /dramatis personae/ of every merry company, an
actor is necessary who feels pleasure when the others, to enliven many
an indifferent moment, point the arrows of their wit at him. If he is
not merely a stuffed Saracen, like those on whom the knights used to
practise their lances in mock battles, but understands himself how to
skirmish, to rally, and to challenge, how to wound lightly, and recover
himself again, and, while he seems to expose himself, to give others a
thrust home, nothing more agreeable can be found. Such a man we
possessed in our friend Horn, whose name, to begin with, gave occasion
for all sorts of jokes, and who, on account of his small figure, was
called nothing but Hörnchen (little Horn). He was, in fact, the smallest
in the company, of a stout but pleasing form; a pug-nose, a mouth
somewhat pouting, little sparkling eyes, made up a swarthy countenance
which always seemed to invite laughter. His little compact skull was
thickly covered with curly black hair: his beard was prematurely blue;
and he would have liked to let it grow, that, as a comic mask, he might
always keep the company laughing. For the rest, he was neat and nimble,
but insisted that he had bandy legs, which everybody granted, since he
was bent on having it so, but about which many a joke arose; for, since
he was in request as a very good dancer, he reckoned it among the
peculiarities of the fair sex, that they always liked to see bandy legs
on the floor. His cheerfulness was indestructible, and his presence at
every meeting indispensable. We two kept more together because he was to
follow me to the university; and he well deserves that I should mention
him with all honor, as he adhered to me for many years with infinite
love, faithfulness, and patience.

By my ease in rhyming, and in winning from common objects a poetical
side, he had allowed himself to be seduced into similar labors. Our
little social excursions, parties of pleasure, and the contingencies
that occurred in them, we decked out poetically; and thus, by the
description of an event, a new event always arose. But as such social
jests commonly degenerate into personal ridicule, and my friend Horn,
with his burlesque representations, did not always keep within proper
bounds, many a misunderstanding arose, which, however, could soon be
softened down and effaced.

Thus, also, he tried his skill in a species of poetry which was then
very much the order of the day,--the comic heroical poem. Pope's "Rape
of the Lock" had called forth many imitations: Zachariä cultivated this
branch of poetry on German soil; and it pleased every one, because the
ordinary subject of it was some awkward fellow, of whom the genii made
game, while they favored the better one.

Although it is no wonder, yet it excites wonderment, when contemplating
a literature, especially the German, one observes how a whole nation
cannot get free from a subject which has been once given, and happily
treated in a certain form, but will have it repeated in every manner,
until, at last, the original itself is covered up, and stifled by the
heaps of imitations.

The heroic poem of my friend was a voucher for this remark. At a great
sledging-party, an awkward man has assigned to him a lady who does not
like him: comically enough, there befalls him, one after another, every
accident that can happen on such an occasion, until at last, as he is
entreating for the sledge-driver's right (a kiss), he falls from the
back-seat; for just then, as was natural, the Fates tripped him up. The
fair one seizes the reins, and drives home alone, where a favored friend
receives her, and triumphs over his presumptuous rival. As to the rest,
it was very prettily contrived that the four different kinds of spirits
should worry him in turn, till at the end the gnomes hoist him
completely out of the saddle. The poem, written in Alexandrines, and
founded on a true story, highly delighted our little public; and we were
convinced that it could well be compared with the "Walpurgisnight" of
Löwen, or the "Renommist" of Zachariä. [Footnote: This word, which
signifies something like our "bully," is specially used to designate a
fighting student.--TRANS.]

While, now, our social pleasures required but an evening, and the
preparations for them only a few hours, I had enough time to read, and,
as I thought, to study. To please my father, I diligently repeated the
smaller work of Hopp, and could stand an examination in it forwards and
backwards, by which means I made myself complete master of the chief
contents of the institutes. But a restless eagerness for knowledge urged
me farther: I lighted upon the history of ancient literature, and from
that fell into an encyclopaedism, in which I hastily read Gessner's
"Isagoge" and Morhov's "Polyhistor," and thus gained a general notion of
how many strange things might have happened in learning and life. By
this persevering and rapid industry, continued day and night, I became
more confused than instructed; but I lost myself in a still greater
labyrinth when I found Bayle in my father's library, and plunged deeply
into this work.

But a leading conviction, which was continually revived within me, was
that of the importance of the ancient tongues; since from amidst this
literary hurly-burly, thus much continually forced itself upon me, that
in them were preserved all the models of oratory, and at the same time
every thing else of worth that the world has ever possessed. Hebrew,
together with biblical studies, had retired into the background, and
Greek likewise, since my acquaintance with it did not extend beyond the
New Testament. I therefore the more zealously kept to Latin, the
masterpieces in which lie nearer to us, and which, besides its splendid
original productions, offers us the other wealth of all ages in
translations, and the works of the greatest scholars. I consequently
read much in this language, with great ease, and was bold enough to
believe I understood the authors, because I missed nothing of the
literal sense. Indeed, I was very indignant when I heard that Grotius
had insolently declared, "he did not read Terence as boys do." Happy
narrow-mindedness of youth!--nay, of men in general, that they can, at
every moment of their existence, fancy themselves finished, and inquire
after neither the true nor the false, after neither the high nor the
deep, but merely after that which is suited to them.

I had thus learned Latin, like German, French, and English, merely by
practice, without rules, and without comprehension. Whoever knows the
then condition of scholastic instruction will not think it strange that
I skipped grammar as well as rhetoric; all seemed to me to come together
naturally: I retained the words, their forms and inflexions, in my ear
and mind, and used the language with ease in writing and in chattering.

Michaelmas, the time fixed for my going to the university, was
approaching; and my mind was excited quite as much about my life as
about my learning. I grew more and more clearly conscious of an aversion
to my native city. By Gretchen's removal, the heart had been broken out
of the boyish and youthful plant: it needed time to bud forth again from
its sides, and surmount the first injury by a new growth. My ramblings
through the streets had ceased: I now, like others, only went such ways
as were necessary. I never went again into Gretchen's quarter of the
city, not even into its vicinity: and as my old walls and towers became
gradually disagreeable to me, so also was I displeased at the
constitution of the city; all that hitherto seemed so worthy of honor
now appeared to me in distorted shapes. As grandson of the
/Schultheiss/ I had not remained unacquainted with the secret
defects of such a republic; the less so, as children feel quite a
peculiar surprise, and are excited to busy researches, as soon as
something which they have hitherto implicitly revered becomes in any
degree suspicious to them. The fruitless indignation of upright men, in
opposition to those who are to be gained and even bribed by factions,
had become but too plain to me: I hated every injustice beyond measure,
for children are all moral rigorists. My father, who was concerned in
the affairs of the city only as a private citizen, expressed himself
with very lively indignation about much that had failed. And did I not
see him, after so many studies, endeavors, pains, travels, and so much
varied cultivation, between his four walls, leading a solitary life,
such as I could never desire for myself? All this put together lay as a
horrible load on my mind, from which I could only free myself by trying
to contrive a plan of life altogether different from that which had been
marked out for me. In thought I threw aside my legal studies, and
devoted myself solely to the languages, to antiquities, to history, and
to all that flows from them.

Indeed, at all times, the poetic imitation of what I had perceived in
myself, in others, and in nature, afforded me the greatest pleasure. I
did it with ever-increasing facility, because it came by instinct, and
no criticism had led me astray; and, if I did not feel full confidence
in my productions, I could certainly regard them as defective, but not
such as to be utterly rejected. Although here and there they were
censured, I still retained my silent conviction that I could not but
gradually improve, and that some time I might be honorably named along
with Hagedorn, Gellert, and other such men. But such a distinction alone
seemed to me too empty and inadequate; I wished to devote myself
professionally and with zeal to those aforesaid fundamental studies,
and, whilst I meant to advance more rapidly in my own works by a more
thorough insight into antiquity, to qualify myself for a university
professorship, which seemed to me the most desirable thing for a young
man who strove for culture, and intended to contribute to that of
others.

With these intentions I always had my eye upon Göttingen. My whole
confidence rested upon men like Heyne, Michaelis, and so many others: my
most ardent wish was to sit at their feet, and attend to their
instructions. But my father remained inflexible. Howsoever some family
friends, who were of my opinion, tried to influence him, he persisted
that I must go to Leipzig. I was now resolved, contrary to his views and
wishes, to choose a line of studies and of life for myself, by way of
self-defense. The obstinacy of my father, who, without knowing it,
opposed himself to my plans, strengthened me in my impiety; so that I
made no scruple to listen to him by the hour, while he described and
repeated to me the course of study and of life which I should pursue at
the universities and in the world.

All hopes of Göttingen being cut off, I now turned my eyes towards
Leipzig. There Ernesti appeared to me as a brilliant light: Morus, too,
already awakened much confidence. I planned for myself in secret an
opposition-course, or rather I built a castle in the air, on a tolerably
solid foundation; and it seemed to me quite romantically honorable to
mark out my own path of life, which appeared the less visionary, as
Griesbach had already made great progress in a similar way, and was
commended for it by every one. The secret joy of a prisoner, when he has
unbound the fetters, and rapidly filed through the bars of his jail-
window, cannot be greater than was mine as I saw day after day
disappear, and October draw nigh. The inclement season and the bad
roads, of which everybody had something to tell, did not frighten me.
The thought of making good my footing in a strange place, and in winter,
did not make me sad; suffice it to say, that I only saw my present
situation was gloomy, and represented to myself the other unknown world
as light and cheerful. Thus I formed my dreams, to which I gave myself
up exclusively, and promised myself nothing but happiness and content in
the distance.

Closely as I kept these projects a secret from every one else, I could
not hide them from my sister, who, after being very much alarmed about
them at first, was finally consoled when I promised to send after her,
so that she could enjoy with me the brilliant station I was to obtain,
and share my comfort with me.

Michaelmas, so longingly expected, came at last, when I set out with
delight, in company with the bookseller Fleischer and his wife (whose
maiden name was Triller, and who was going to visit her father in
Wittemberg); and I left behind me the worthy city in which I had been
born and bred, with indifference, as if I wished never to set foot in it
again.

Thus, at certain epochs, children part from parents, servants from
masters, /protégés/ from their patrons; and, whether it succeed or
not, such an attempt to stand on one's own feet, to make one's self
independent, to live for one's self, is always in accordance with the
will of nature.

We had driven out through the Allerheiligen (/All Saints/) gate,
and had soon left Hanau behind us, after which we reached scenes which
aroused my attention by their novelty, if, at this season of the year,
they offered little that was pleasing. A continual rain had completely
spoiled the roads, which, generally speaking, were not then in such good
order as we find them now; and our journey was thus neither pleasant nor
happy. Yet I was indebted to this damp weather for the sight of a
natural phenomenon which must be exceedingly rare, for I have seen
nothing like it since, nor have I heard of its having been observed by
others. It was this; namely, we were driving at night up a rising ground
between Hanau and Gelhausen, and, although it was dark, we preferred
walking to exposing ourselves to the danger and difficulty of that part
of the road. All at once, in a ravine on the right-hand side of the way,
I saw a sort of amphitheatre, wonderfully illuminated. In a funnel-
shaped space there were innumerable little lights gleaming, ranged step-
fashion over one another; and they shone so brilliantly that the eye was
dazzled. But what still more confused the sight was, that they did not
keep still, but jumped about here and there, as well downwards from
above as /vice versa/, and in every direction. The greater part of
them, however, remained stationary, and beamed on. It was only with the
greatest reluctance that I suffered myself to be called away from this
spectacle, which I could have wished to examine more closely. The
postilion, when questioned, said that he knew nothing about such a
phenomenon, but that there was in the neighborhood an old stone-quarry,
the excavation of which was filled with water. Now, whether this was a
pandemonium of will-o'-the-wisps, or a company of luminous creatures, I
will not decide.

The roads through Thuringia were yet worse; and unfortunately, at night-
fall, our coach stuck fast in the vicinity of Auerstädt. We were far
removed from all mankind, and did every thing possible to work ourselves
out. I failed not to exert myself zealously, and might thereby have
overstrained the ligaments of my chest; for soon afterwards I felt a
pain, which went off and returned, and did not leave me entirely until
after many years.

Yet on that same night, as if it had been destined for alternate good
and bad luck, I was forced, after an unexpectedly fortunate incident, to
experience a teasing vexation. We met, in Auerstädt, a genteel married
couple, who had also just arrived, having been delayed by a similar
accident; a pleasing, dignified man, in his best years, with a very
handsome wife. They politely persuaded us to sup in their company, and I
felt very happy when the excellent lady addressed a friendly word to me.
But when I was sent out to hasten the soup which had been ordered, not
having been accustomed to the loss of rest and the fatigues of
travelling, such an unconquerable drowsiness overtook me, that actually
I fell asleep while walking, returned into the room with my hat on my
head, and, without remarking that the others were saying grace, placed
myself with quiet unconsciousness behind the chair, and never dreamed
that by my conduct I had come to disturb their devotions in a very droll
way. Madame Fleischer, who lacked neither spirit nor wit nor tongue,
entreated the strangers, before they had seated themselves, not to be
surprised at any thing they might see here; for that their young fellow-
traveller had in his nature much of the peculiarity of the Quakers, who
believe that they cannot honor God and the king better than with covered
heads. The handsome lady, who could not restrain her laughter, looked
prettier than ever in consequence; and I would have given every thing in
the world not to have been the cause of a merriment which was so highly
becoming to her countenance. I had, however, scarcely laid aside my hat,
when these persons, in accordance with their polished manners,
immediately dropped the joke, and, with the best wine from their bottle-
case, completely extinguished sleep, chagrin, and the memory of all past
troubles.

I arrived in Leipzig just at the time of the fair, from which I derived
particular pleasure; for here I saw before me the continuation of a
state of things belonging to my native city, familiar wares and
traders,--only in other places, and in a different order. I rambled
about the market and the booths with much interest; but my attention was
particularly attracted by the inhabitants of the Eastern countries in
their strange dresses, the Poles and Russians, and, above all, the
Greeks, for the sake of whose handsome forms and dignified costume I
often went to the spot.

But this animating bustle was soon over; and now the city itself
appeared before me, with its handsome, high, and uniform houses. It made
a very good impression upon me; and it cannot be denied, that in
general, but especially in the silent moments of Sundays and holidays,
it has something imposing; and when in the moonlight the streets were
half in shadow, half-illuminated, they often invited me to nocturnal
promenades.

[Illustration: Woman with birds.]

In the mean time, as compared with that to which I had hitherto been
accustomed, this new state of affairs was by no means satisfactory.
Leipzig calls up before the spectator no antique time: it is a new,
recently elapsed epoch, testifying commercial activity, comfort and
wealth, which announces itself to us in these monuments. Yet quite to my
taste were the houses, which to me seemed immense, and which, fronting
two streets, and embracing a citizen-world within their large court-
yards, built round with lofty walls, are like large castles, nay, even
half-cities. In one of these strange places I quartered myself; namely,
in the Bombshell Tavern (/Feuerkugel/), between the Old and the New
Newmarket (/Neumarkt/). A couple of pleasant rooms looking out upon
a court-yard, which, on account of the thoroughfare, was not without
animation, were occupied by the bookseller Fleischer during the fair,
and by me taken for the rest of the time at a moderate price. As a
fellow-lodger I found a theological student, who was deeply learned in
his professional studies, a sound thinker, but poor, and suffering much
from his eyes, which caused him great anxiety for the future. He had
brought this affliction upon himself by his inordinate reading till the
latest dusk of the evening, and even by moonlight, to save a little oil.
Our old hostess showed herself benevolent to him, always friendly to me,
and careful for us both.

I now hastened with my letters of introduction to Hofrath Böhme, who,
once a pupil of Maskow, and now his successor, was professor of history
and public law. A little, thick-set, lively man received me kindly
enough, and introduced me to his wife. Both of them, as well as the
other persons whom I waited on, gave me the pleasantest hopes as to my
future residence; but at first I let no one know of the design I
entertained, although I could scarcely wait for the favorable moment
when I should declare myself free from jurisprudence, and devoted to the
study of the classics. I cautiously waited till the Fleischers had
returned, that my purpose might not be too prematurely betrayed to my
family. But I then went, without delay, to Hofrath Böhme, to whom,
before all, I thought I must confide the matter, and with much self-
importance and boldness of speech disclosed my views to him. However, I
found by no means a good reception of my proposition. As professor of
history and public law, he had a declared hatred for every thing that
savored of the /belles-lettres/. Unfortunately he did not stand on
the best footing with those who cultivated them; and Gellert in
particular, in whom I had, awkwardly enough, expressed much confidence,
he could not even endure. To send a faithful student to those men,
therefore, while he deprived himself of one, and especially under such
circumstances, seemed to him altogether out of the question. He
therefore gave me a severe lecture on the spot, in which he protested
that he could not permit such a step without the permission of my
parents, even if he approved of it himself, which was not the case in
this instance. He then passionately inveighed against philology and the
study of languages, but still more against poetical exercises, which I
had indeed allowed to peep out in the background. He finally concluded,
that, if I wished to enter more closely into the study of the ancients,
it could be done much better by the way of jurisprudence. He brought to
my recollection many elegant jurists, such as Eberhard, Otto, and
Heineccius, promised me mountains of gold from Roman antiquities and the
history of law, and showed me, clear as the sun, that I should here be
taking no roundabout way, even if afterwards, on more mature
deliberation, and with the consent of my parents, I should determine to
follow out my own plan. He begged me, in a friendly manner, to think the
matter over once more, and to open my mind to him soon; as it would be
necessary to come to a determination at once, on account of the
impending commencement of the lectures.

It was, however, very polite of him not to press me on the spot. His
arguments, and the weight with which he advanced them, had already
convinced my pliant youth; and I now first saw the difficulties and
doubtfulness of a matter which I had privately pictured to myself as so
feasible. Frau Hofrath Böhme invited me shortly afterwards. I found her
alone. She was no longer young, and had very delicate health; was gentle
and tender to an infinite degree; and formed a decided contrast to her
husband, whose good nature was even blustering. She spoke of the
conversation her husband had lately had with me, and once more placed
the subject before me, in all its bearings, in so cordial a manner, so
affectionately and sensibly, that I could not help yielding: the few
reservations on which I insisted were also agreed upon by the other
side.

Thereupon her husband regulated my hours; for I was to hear lectures on
philosophy, the history of law, the Institutes, and some other matters.
I was content with this; but I carried my point so as to attend
Gellert's history of literature (with Stockhausen for a text-book), and
his "Practicum" besides.

The reverence and love with which Gellert was regarded by all young
people was extraordinary. I had already called on him, and had been
kindly received by him. Not of tall stature; elegant without being lean;
soft and rather pensive eyes; a very fine forehead; a nose aquiline, but
not too much so; a delicate mouth; a face of an agreeable oval,--all
made his presence pleasing and desirable. It cost some trouble to reach
him. His two /Famuli/ appeared like priests who guard a sanctuary,
the access to which is not permitted to everybody, nor at every time:
and such a precaution was very necessary; for he would have sacrificed
his whole time, had he been willing to receive and satisfy all those who
wished to become intimate with him.

At first I attended my lectures assiduously and faithfully, but the
philosophy would not enlighten me at all. In the logic it seemed strange
to me that I had so to tear asunder, isolate, and, as it were, destroy,
those operations of the mind which I had performed with the greatest
ease from my youth upwards, and this in order to see into the right use
of them. Of the thing itself, of the world, and of God, I thought I knew
about as much as the professor himself; and, in more places than one,
the affair seemed to me to come into a tremendous strait. Yet all went
on in tolerable order till towards Shrovetide, when, in the neighborhood
of Professor Winkler's house on the Thomas Place, the most delicious
fritters came hot out of the pan just at the hour of lecture: and these
delayed us so long, that our note-books became disordered; and the
conclusion of them, towards spring, melted away, together with the snow,
and was lost.

The law-lectures very soon fared not any better, for I already knew just
as much as the professor thought good to communicate to us. My stubborn
industry in writing down the lectures at first, was paralyzed by
degrees; for I found it excessively tedious to pen down once more that
which, partly by question, partly by answer, I had repeated with my
father often enough to retain it forever in my memory. The harm which is
done when young people at school are advanced too far in many things was
afterwards manifested still more when time and attention were diverted
from exercises in the languages, and a foundation in what are, properly
speaking, preparatory studies, in order to be applied to what are called
"Realities," which dissipate more than they cultivate, if they are not
methodically and thoroughly taught.

I here mention, by the way, another evil by which students are much
embarrassed. Professors, as well as other men in office, cannot all be
of the same age: but when the younger ones teach, in fact, only that
they may learn, and moreover, if they have talent, anticipate their age,
they acquire their own cultivation altogether at the cost of their
hearers; since these are not instructed in what they really need, but in
that which the professor finds it necessary to elaborate for himself.
Among the oldest professors, on the contrary, many are for a long time
stationary: they deliver on the whole only fixed views, and, in the
details, much that time has already condemned as useless and false.
Between the two arises a sad conflict, in which young minds are dragged
hither and thither, and which can scarcely be set right by the middle-
aged professors, who, though possessed of sufficient learning and
culture, always feel within themselves an active desire for knowledge
and reflection.

Now, as in this way I learned to know much more than I could digest,
whereby a constantly increasing uncomfortableness was forced upon me; so
also from life I experienced many disagreeable trifles,--as, indeed, one
must always pay one's footing when one changes one's place and comes
into a new position. The first thing the ladies blamed me for was my
dress, for I had come from home to the university rather oddly equipped.

My father, who detested nothing so much as when something happened in
vain, when any one did not know how to make use of his time, or found no
opportunity for turning it to account, carried his economy of time and
abilities so far, that nothing gave him greater pleasure than to kill
two birds with one stone. [Footnote: Literally, "to strike two flies
with one flapper."--TRANS.] He had, therefore, never engaged a servant
who could not be useful to the house in something else. Now, as he had
always written every thing with his own hand, and had, latterly, the
convenience of dictating to the young inmate of the house, he found it
most advantageous to have tailors for his domestics, who were obliged to
make good use of their time, as they not only had to make their own
liveries, but the clothes for my father and the children, besides doing
all the mending. My father himself took pains to have the best materials
and the best kind of cloth, by getting fine wares of the foreign
merchants at the fair, and laying them up in store. I still remember
well that he always visited the Herr von Löwenicht, of Aix-la-Chapelle,
and from my earliest youth made me acquainted with these and other
eminent merchants.

Care was also taken for the fitness of the stuff: and there was a
plentiful stock of different kinds of cloth, serge, and Götting stuff,
besides the requisite lining; so that, as far as the materials were
concerned, we might well venture to be seen. But the form spoiled almost
every thing. For, if one of our home-tailors was any thing of a clever
hand at sewing and making up a coat which had been cut out for him in
masterly fashion, he was now obliged also to cut out the dress for
himself, which did not always succeed to perfection. In addition to
this, my father kept whatever belonged to his clothing in very good and
neat order, and preserved more than used it for many years. Thus he had
a predilection for certain old cuts and trimmings, by which our dress
sometimes acquired a strange appearance.

In this same way had the wardrobe which I took with me to the university
been furnished: it was very complete and handsome, and there was even a
laced suit amongst the rest. Already accustomed to this kind of attire,
I thought myself sufficiently well dressed; but it was not long before
my female friends, first by gentle raillery, then by sensible
remonstrances, convinced me that I looked as if I had dropped down out
of another world. Much as I felt vexed at this, I did not see at first
how I was to mend matters. But when Herr von Masuren, the favorite
poetical country squire, once entered the theatre in a similar costume,
and was heartily laughed at, more by reason of his external than his
internal absurdity, I took courage, and ventured at once to exchange my
whole wardrobe for a new-fashioned one, suited to the place, by which,
however, it shrunk considerably.

When this trial was surmounted, a new one was to come up, which proved
to be far more unpleasant, because it concerned a matter which one does
not so easily put off and exchange.

I had been born and bred in the Upper-German dialect; and although my
father always labored to preserve a certain purity of language, and,
from our youth upwards, had made us children attentive to what may be
really called the defects of that idiom, and so prepared us for a better
manner of speaking, I retained nevertheless many deeper-seated
peculiarities, which, because they pleased me by their /naïvete/, I
was fond of making conspicuous, and thus every time I used them incurred
a severe reproof from my new fellow-townsmen. The Upper-German, and
perhaps chiefly he who lives by the Rhine and Main (for great rivers,
like the seacoast, always have something animating about them),
expresses himself much in similes and allusions, and makes use of
proverbial sayings with a native common-sense aptness. In both cases he
is often blunt: but, when one sees the drift of the expression, it is
always appropriate; only something, to be sure, may often slip in, which
proves offensive to a more delicate ear.

Every province loves its own dialect; for it is, properly speaking, the
element in which the soul draws its breath. But every one knows with
what obstinacy the Misnian dialect has contrived to domineer over the
rest, and even, for a long time, to exclude them. We have suffered for
many years under this pedantic tyranny, and only by reiterated struggles
have all the provinces again established themselves in their ancient
rights. What a lively young man had to endure from this continual
tutoring, may be easily inferred by any one who reflects that modes of
thought, imagination, feeling, native character, must be sacrificed with
the pronunciation which one at last consents to alter. And this
intolerable demand was made by men and women of education, whose
convictions I could not adopt, whose injustice I thought I felt, though
I was unable to make it plain to myself. Allusions to the pithy biblical
texts were to be forbidden me, as well as the use of the honest-hearted
expressions from the Chronicles. I had to forget that I had read the
"Kaiser von Geisersberg," and eschew the use of proverbs, which
nevertheless, instead of much fiddle-faddle, just hit the nail upon the
head,--all this, which I had appropriated to myself with youthful ardor,
I was now to do without: I felt paralyzed to the core, and scarcely knew
any more how I had to express myself on the commonest things. I was,
moreover, told that one should speak as one writes, and write as one
speaks; while to me, speaking and writing seemed once for all two
different things, each of which might well maintain its own rights. And
even in the Misnian dialect had I to hear many things which would have
made no great figure on paper.

Every one who perceives in this the influence which men and women of
education, the learned, and other persons who take pleasure in refined
society, so decidedly exercise over a young student, would be
immediately convinced that we were in Leipzig, even if it had not been
mentioned. Each one of the German universities has a particular
character; for, as no universal cultivation can pervade our fatherland,
every place adheres to its own fashion, and carries out, even to the
last, its own characteristic peculiarities: exactly the same thing holds
good of the universities. In Jena and Halle roughness had been carried
to the highest pitch: bodily strength, skill in fighting, the wildest
self-help, was there the order of the day; and such a state of affairs
can only be maintained and propagated by the most universal riot. The
relations of the students to the inhabitants of those cities, various as
they might be, nevertheless agreed in this, that the wild stranger had
no regard for the citizen, and looked upon himself as a peculiar being,
privileged to all sorts of freedom and insolence. In Leipzig, on the
contrary, a student could scarcely be any thing else than polite, as
soon as he wished to stand on any footing at all with the rich, well-
bred, and punctilious inhabitants.

All politeness, indeed, when it does not present itself as the flowering
of a great and comprehensive mode of life, must appear restrained,
stationary, and, from some points of view, perhaps, absurd; and so those
wild huntsmen from the Saale [Footnote: The river on which Halle is
built.--TRANS.] thought they had a great superiority over the tame
shepherds on the Pleisse. [Footnote: The river near Leipzig.--TRANS.]
Zachariä's "Renommist" will always be a valuable document, from which
the manner of life and thought at that time rises visibly forth; as in
general his poems must be welcome to every one who wishes to form for
himself a conception of the then prevailing state of social life and
manners, which was indeed feeble, but amiable on account of its
innocence and child-like simplicity.

All manners which result from the given relations of a common existence
are indestructible; and, in my time, many things still reminded us of
Zachariä's epic poem. Only one of our fellow-academicians thought
himself rich and independent enough to snap his fingers at public
opinion. He drank acquaintance with all the hackney-coachmen, whom he
allowed to sit inside the coach as if they were gentlemen, while he
drove them on the box; thought it a great joke to upset them now and
then, and contrived to satisfy them for their smashed vehicles as well
as for their occasional bruises; but otherwise he did no harm to any
one, seeming only to make a mock of the public /en masse/. Once, on
a most beautiful promenade-day, he and a comrade of his seized upon the
donkeys of the miller in St. Thomas's square: well-dressed, and in their
shoes and stockings, they rode around the city with the greatest
solemnity, stared at by all the promenaders, with whom the glacis was
swarming. When some sensible persons remonstrated with him on the
subject, he assured them, quite unembarrassed, that he only wanted to
see how the Lord Christ might have looked in a like case. Yet he found
no imitators and few companions.

For the student of any wealth and standing had every reason to show
himself attentive to the mercantile class, and to be the more solicitous
about the proper external forms, as the colony [Footnote: Leipzig was so
called, because a large and influential portion of its citizens were
sprung from a colony of Huguenots, who settled there after the
revocation of the edict of Nantes.--/American Note/.] exhibited a
model of French manners. The professors, opulent both from their private
property and from their liberal salaries, were not dependent upon their
scholars; and many subjects of the state, educated at the government
schools or other gymnasia, and hoping for preferment, did not venture to
throw off the traditional customs. The neighborhood of Dresden, the
attention thence paid to us, and the true piety of the superintendent of
the course of study, could not be without a moral, nay, a religious,
influence.

At first this kind of life was not repugnant to me: my letters of
introduction had given me the /entrée/ into good families, whose
circle of relatives also received me well. But as I was soon forced to
feel that the company had much to find fault with in me, and that, after
dressing myself in their fashion, I must now talk according to their
tongue also; and as, moreover, I could plainly see that I was, on the
other hand, but little benefited by the instruction and mental
improvement I had promised myself from my academical residence,--I began
to be lazy, and to neglect the social duties of visiting, and other
attentions; and indeed I should have sooner withdrawn from all such
connections, had not fear and esteem attached me firmly to Hofrath
Böhme, and confidence and affection to his wife. The husband,
unfortunately, had not the happy gift of dealing with young people, of
winning their confidence, and of guiding them, for the moment, as
occasion might require. When I visited him I never got any good by it:
his wife, on the contrary, showed a genuine interest in me. Her ill
health kept her constantly at home. She often invited me to spend the
evening with her, and knew how to direct and improve me in many little
external particulars: for my manners were good, indeed; but I was not
yet master of what is properly termed /étiquette/. Only one friend
spent the evenings with her; but she was much more dictatorial and
pedantic, for which reason she displeased me excessively: and, out of
spite to her, I often resumed those unmannerly habits from which the
other had already weaned me. Nevertheless she always had patience enough
with me, taught me piquet, ombre, and similar games, the knowledge and
practice of which is held indispensable in society.

But it was in the matter of taste that Madame Böhme had the greatest
influence upon me,--in a negative way truly, yet one in which she agreed
perfectly with the critics. The Gottsched waters [Footnote: That is to
say, the influence of Gottsched on German literature, of which more is
said in the next book.--TRANS.] had inundated the German world with a
true deluge, which threatened to rise up, even over the highest
mountains. It takes a long time for such a flood to subside again, for
the mire to dry away; and as in any epoch there are numberless aping
poets, so the imitation of the flat and watery produced a chaos, of
which now scarcely a notion remains. To find out that trash was trash
was hence the greatest sport, yea, the triumph, of the critics of those
days. Whoever had only a little common sense, was superficially
acquainted with the ancients, and was somewhat more familiar with the
moderns, thought himself provided with a standard scale which he could
everywhere apply. Madame Böhme was an educated woman, who opposed the
trivial, weak, and commonplace: she was, besides, the wife of a man who
lived on bad terms with poetry in general, and would not even allow that
of which she perhaps might have somewhat approved. She listened, indeed,
for some time with patience, when I ventured to recite to her the verse
or prose of famous poets who already stood in good repute,--for then, as
always, I knew by heart every thing that chanced in any degree to please
me; but her complaisance was not of long duration. The first whom she
outrageously abused were the poets of the Weisse school, who were just
then often quoted with great applause, and had delighted me very
particularly. If I looked more closely into the matter, I could not say
she was wrong. I had sometimes even ventured to recite to her, though
anonymously, some of my own poems; but these fared no better than the
rest of the set. And thus, in a short time, the beautiful variegated
meadows at the foot of the German Parnassus, where I was fond of
luxuriating, were mercilessly mowed down; and I was even compelled to
toss about the drying hay myself, and to ridicule that as lifeless
which, a short time before, had given me such lively joy.

Without knowing it, Professor Morus came to strengthen her instructions.
He was an uncommonly gentle and friendly man, with whom I became
acquainted at the table of Hofrath Ludwig, and who received me very
pleasantly when I begged the privilege of visiting him. Now, while
making inquiries of him concerning antiquity, I did not conceal from him
what delighted me among the moderns; when he spoke about such things
with more calmness, but, what was still worse, with more profundity than
Madame Böhme; and he thus opened my eyes, at first to my greatest
chagrin, but afterwards to my surprise, and at last to my edification.

Besides this, there came the Jeremiads, with which Gellert, in his
course, was wont to warn us against poetry. He wished only for prose
essays, and always criticised these first. Verses he treated as a sorry
addition: and, what was the worst of all, even my prose found little
favor in his eyes; for, after my old fashion, I used always to lay, as
the foundation, a little romance, which I loved to work out in the
epistolary form. The subjects were impassioned, the style went beyond
ordinary prose, and the contents probably did not display any very deep
knowledge of mankind in the author; and so I stood in very little favor
with our professor, although he carefully looked over my labors as well
as those of the others, corrected them with red ink, and here and there
added a moral remark. Many leaves of this kind, which I kept for a long
time with satisfaction, have unfortunately, in the course of years, at
last disappeared from among my papers.

If elderly persons wish to play the pedagogue properly, they should
neither prohibit nor render disagreeable to a young man any thing which
gives him pleasure, of whatever kind it may be, unless, at the same
time, they have something else to put in its place, or can contrive a
substitute. Everybody protested against my tastes and inclinations; and,
on the other hand, what they commended to me lay either so far from me
that I could not perceive its excellencies, or stood so near me that I
thought it not a whit better than what they inveighed against. I thus
became thoroughly perplexed on the subject, and promised myself the best
results from a lecture of Ernesti's on "Cicero de Oratore." I learned
something, indeed, from this lecture, but was not enlightened on the
subject which particularly concerned me. What I demanded was a standard
of opinion, and thought I perceived that nobody possessed it; for no one
agreed with another, even when they brought forward examples: and where
were we to get a settled judgment, when they managed to reckon up
against a man like Wieland so many faults in his amiable writings, which
so completely captivated us younger folks?

Amid this manifold distraction, this dismemberment of my existence and
my studies, it happened that I took my dinners at Hofrath Ludwig's. He
was a medical man, a botanist; and his company, with the exception of
Morus, consisted of physicians just commencing or near the completion of
their studies. Now, during these hours, I heard no other conversation
than about medicine or natural history, and my imagination was drawn
over into quite a new field. I heard the names of Haller, Linnaeus,
Buffon, mentioned with great respect; and, even if disputes often arose
about mistakes into which it was said they had fallen, all agreed in the
end to honor the acknowledged abundance of their merits. The subjects
were entertaining and important, and enchained my attention. By degrees
I became familiar with many names and a copious terminology, which I
grasped more willingly as I was afraid to write down a rhyme, however
spontaneously it presented itself, or to read a poem, for I was fearful
that it might please me at the time, and that perhaps immediately
afterwards, like so much else, I should be forced to pronounce it bad.

This uncertainty of taste and judgment disquieted me more and more every
day, so that at last I fell into despair. I had brought with me those of
my youthful labors which I thought the best, partly because I hoped to
get some credit by them, partly that I might be able to test my progress
with greater certainty; but I found myself in the miserable situation in
which one is placed when a complete change of mind is required,--a
renunciation of all that one has hitherto loved and found good. However,
after some time and many struggles, I conceived so great a contempt for
my labors, begun and ended, that one day I burnt up poetry and prose,
plans, sketches, and projects, all together on the kitchen hearth, and
threw our good old landlady into no small fright and anxiety by the
smoke which filled the whole house.



SEVENTH BOOK.

About the condition of German literature of those times so much has been
written, and so exhaustively, that every one who takes any interest in
it can be completely informed; in regard to it critics agree now pretty
well; and what at present I intend to say piecemeal and disconnectedly
concerning it, relates not so much to the way in which it was
constituted in itself, as to its relation to me. I will therefore first
speak of those things by which the public is particularly excited; of
those two hereditary foes of all comfortable life, and of all cheerful,
self-sufficient, living poetry,--I mean, satire and criticism.

In quiet times every one wants to live after his own fashion: the
citizen will carry on his trade or his business, and enjoy the fruits of
it afterwards; thus will the author, too, willingly compose something,
publish his labors, and, since he thinks he has done something good and
useful, hope for praise, if not reward. In this tranquillity the citizen
is disturbed by the satirist, the author by the critic; and peaceful
society is thus put into a disagreeable agitation.

The literary epoch in which I was born was developed out of the
preceding one by opposition. Germany, so long inundated by foreigners,
interpenetrated by other nations, directed to foreign languages in
learned and diplomatic transactions, could not possibly cultivate her
own. Together with so many new ideas, innumerable foreign words were
obtruded necessarily and unnecessarily upon her; and, even for objects
already known, people were induced to make use of foreign expressions
and turns of speech. The German, having run wild for nearly two hundred
years in an unhappy tumultuary state, went to school with the French to
learn manners, and with the Romans in order to express his thoughts with
propriety. But this was to be done in the mother-tongue, when the
literal application of those idioms, and their half-Germanization, made
both the social and business style ridiculous. Besides this, they
adopted without moderation the similes of the southern languages, and
employed them most extravagantly. In the same way they transferred the
stately deportment of the prince-like citizens of Rome to the learned
German small-town officers, and were at home nowhere, least of all with
themselves.

But as in this epoch works of genius had already appeared, the German
sense of freedom and joy also began to stir itself. This, accompanied by
a genuine earnestness, insisted that men should write purely and
naturally, without the intermixture of foreign words, and as common
intelligible sense dictated. By these praiseworthy endeavors, however,
the doors and gates were thrown open to an extended national insipidity,
nay,--the dike was dug through by which the great deluge was shortly to
rush in. Meanwhile, a stiff pedantry long stood its ground in all the
four faculties, until at last, much later, it fled for refuge from one
of them to another.

Men of parts, children of nature looking freely about them, had
therefore two objects on which they could exercise themselves, against
which they could labor, and, as the matter was of no great importance,
give a vent to their petulance: these were,--a language disfigured by
foreign words, forms, and turns of speech on the one hand, and the
worthlessness of such writings as had been careful to keep themselves
free from those faults on the other; though it occurred to nobody, that,
while they were battling against one evil, the other was called on for
assistance.

Liskow, a daring young man, first ventured to attack by name a shallow,
silly writer, whose awkward demeanor soon gave him an opportunity to
proceed still more severely. He then went farther, and constantly aimed
his scorn at particular persons and objects, whom he despised and sought
to render despicable,--nay, even persecuted them with passionate hatred.
But his career was short; for he soon died, and was gradually forgotten
as a restless, irregular youth. The talent and character shown in what
he did, although he had accomplished little, may have seemed valuable to
his countrymen; for the Germans have always shown a peculiar pious
kindliness to talents of good promise, when prematurely cut off. Suffice
it to say, that Liskow was very soon praised and recommended to us as an
excellent satirist, who could have attained a rank even above the
universally beloved Rabener. Here, indeed, we saw ourselves no better
off than before; for we could discover nothing in his writings, except
that he had found the silly, silly, which seemed to us quite a matter of
course.

Rabener, well educated, grown up under good scholastic instruction, of a
cheerful, and by no means passionate or malicious, disposition, took up
general satire. His censure of the so-called vices and follies springs
from the clear views of a quiet common sense, and from a fixed moral
conception of what the world ought to be. His denunciation of faults and
failings is harmless and cheerful; and, in order to excuse even the
slight boldness of his writings, it is supposed that the improving of
fools by ridicule is no fruitless undertaking.

Rabener's personal character will not easily appear again. As an able,
punctual man of business, he does his duty, and thus gains the good
opinion of his fellow-townsmen and the confidence of his superiors;
along with which, he gives himself up to the enjoyment of a pleasant
contempt for all that immediately surrounds him. Pedantic
/literati/, vain youngsters, every sort of narrowness and conceit,
he banters rather than satirizes; and even his banter expresses no
contempt. Just in the same way does he jest about his own condition, his
misfortune, his life, and his death.

There is little of the aesthetic in the manner in which this writer
treats his subjects. In external forms he is indeed varied enough, but
throughout he makes too much use of direct irony; namely, in praising
the blameworthy and blaming the praiseworthy, whereas this figure of
speech should be used but extremely seldom; for, in the long run, it
becomes annoying to clear-sighted men, perplexes the weak, while indeed
it pleases the great middle class, who, without any special expense of
mind, can fancy themselves more knowing than others. But whatever he
brings before us, and however he does it, alike bears witness to his
rectitude, cheerfulness, and equanimity; so that we always feel
prepossessed in his favor. The unbounded applause of his own times was a
consequence of such moral excellencies.

That people looked for originals to his general descriptions and found
them, was natural; that individuals complained of him, followed from the
above; his lengthy apologies that his satire is not personal, prove the
spite it provoked. Some of his letters crown him at once as a man and an
author. The confidential epistle in which he describes the siege of
Dresden, and how he loses his house, his effects, his writings, and his
wigs, without having his equanimity in the least shaken or his
cheerfulness clouded, is highly valuable; although his contemporaries
and fellow-citizens could not forgive him his happy turn of mind. The
letter where he speaks of the decay of his strength and of his
approaching death is in the highest degree worthy of respect; and
Rabener deserves to be honored as a saint by all cheerful, intelligent
men, who cheerfully resign themselves to earthly events.

I tear myself away from him reluctantly, yet I would make this remark:
his satire refers throughout to the middle class; he lets us see here
and there that he is also well acquainted with the higher ranks, but
does not hold it advisable to come in contact with them. It may be said,
that he has had no successor, that no one has been found who could
consider himself equal or even similar to him.

Now for criticism! and first of all for the theoretic attempts. It is
not going too far when we say that the ideal had, at that time, escaped
out of the world into religion; it scarcely even made its appearance in
moral philosophy; of a highest principle of art no one had a notion.
They put Gottsched's "Critical Art of Poetry" into our hands; it was
useful and instructive enough, for it gave us a historical information
of all the kinds of poetry, as well as of rhythm and its different
movements: the poetic genius was presupposed! But, besides that, the
poet was to have acquirements and even learning: he should possess
taste, and every thing else of that kind. They directed us at last to
Horace's "Art of Poetry:" we gazed at single golden maxims of this
invaluable work, but did not know in the least what to do with it as a
whole, or how we should use it.

The Swiss stepped forth as Gottsched's antagonists: they must take it
into their heads to do something different, to accomplish something
better; accordingly we heard that they were, in fact, superior.
Breitinger's "Critical Art of Poetry" was taken in hand. Here we reached
a wider field, but, properly speaking, only a greater labyrinth, which
was so much the more tiresome, as an able man, in whom we had
confidence, was driving us about in it. Let a brief review justify these
words.

For poetry in itself they had been able to find no fundamental axiom: it
was too spiritual and too volatile. Painting, an art which one could
hold fast with one's eyes, and follow step by step with the external
senses, seemed more favorable for such an end: the English and French
had already theorized about plastic art; and, by a comparison drawn from
this, it was thought that poetry might be grounded. The former presented
images to the eye, the latter to the imagination: poetical images,
therefore, were the first thing which was taken into consideration.
People began with comparisons, descriptions followed, and only that was
expressed which had always been apparent to the external senses.

Images, then! But where should these images be got except from nature?
The painter professedly imitated nature: why not the poet also? But
nature, as she lies before us, cannot be imitated: she contains so much
that is insignificant and worthless, that one must make a selection; but
what determines the choice? one must select that which is important: but
what is important?

To answer this question, the Swiss may have taken a long time to
consider; for they came to a notion, which is indeed singular, but
clever, and even comical, inasmuch as they say, the new is always the
most important: and after they have considered this for a while, they
discover that the marvellous is always newer than every thing else.

They had now pretty well collected their poetical requisitions; but they
had still to consider that the marvellous might also be empty, and
without relation to man. But this relation, demanded as necessary, must
be a moral one, from which the improvement of mankind should manifestly
follow; and thus a poem had reached its utmost aim when, with every
thing else accomplished, it was useful besides. They now wished to test
the different kinds of poetry according to all these requisites: those
which imitated nature, besides being marvellous, and at the same time of
a moral aim and use, were to rank as the first and highest. And, after
much deliberation, this great pre-eminence was at last ascribed, with
the highest degree of conviction, to Aesop's fables!

Strange as such a deduction may now appear, it had the most decided
influence on the best minds. That Gellert and subsequently Lichtwer
devoted themselves to this department, that even Lessing attempted to
labor in it, that so many others turned their talents towards it, speaks
for the confidence which this species of poetry had gained. Theory and
practice always act upon each other: one can see from their works what
is the men's opinion, and, from their opinions, predict what they will
do.

Yet we must not dismiss our Swiss theory without doing it justice.
Bodmer, with all the pains he took, remained theoretically and
practically a child all his life. Breitinger was an able, learned,
sagacious man, whom, when he looked rightly about him, the essentials of
a poem did not all escape,--nay, it can be shown that he may have dimly
felt the deficiencies of his system. Remarkable, for instance, is his
query, "Whether a certain descriptive poem by König, on the 'Review-camp
of Augustus the Second,' is properly a poem?" and the answer to it
displays good sense. But it may serve for his complete justification
that he, starting from a false point, on a circle almost run out
already, still struck upon the main principle, and at the end of his
book finds himself compelled to recommend as additions, so to speak, the
representation of manners, character, passions,--in short, the whole
inner man; to which, indeed, poetry pre-eminently belongs.

It may well be imagined into what perplexity young minds felt themselves
thrown by such dislocated maxims, half-understood laws, and shivered-up
dogmas. We adhere to examples, and there, too, were no better off;
foreigners as well as the ancients stood too far from us; and from the
best native poets always peeped out a decided individuality, to the good
points of which we could not lay claim, and into the faults of which we
could not but be afraid of falling. For him who felt any thing
productive in himself it was a desperate condition.

When one considers closely what was wanting in the German poetry, it was
a material, and that, too, a national one: there was never a lack of
talent. Here we make mention only of Günther, who may be called a poet
in the full sense of the word. A decided talent, endowed with
sensuousness, imagination, memory, the gifts of conception and
representation, productive in the highest degree, ready at rhythm,
ingenious, witty, and of varied information besides,--he possessed, in
short, all the requisites for creating, by means of poetry, a second
life within life, even within common real life. We admire the great
facility with which, in his occasional poems, he elevates all
circumstances by the feelings, and embellishes them with suitable
sentiments, images, and historical and fabulous traditions. Their
roughness and wildness belong to his time, his mode of life, and
especially to his character, or, if one would have it so, his want of
fixed character. He did not know how to curb himself; and so his life,
like his poetry, melted away from him.

By his vacillating conduct, Günther had trifled away the good fortune of
being appointed at the court of Augustus the Second, where, in addition
to every other species of ostentation, they were also looking about for
a court-poet, who could give elevation and grace to their festivities,
and immortalize a transitory pomp. Von König was more mannerly and more
fortunate: he filled this post with dignity and applause.

In all sovereign states the material for poetry comes downwards from
above; and "The Review-camp at Mühlberg" ("Das Lustlager bei Mühlberg")
was, perhaps, the first worthy object, provincial, if not national,
which presented itself to a poet. Two kings saluting one another in the
presence of a great host, their whole courts and military state around
them, well-appointed troops, a mock-fight, /fêtes/ of all kinds,--
this is business enough for the outward sense, and overflowing material
for delineating and descriptive poetry.

This subject had, indeed, the internal defect, that it was only pomp and
show, from which no real action could result. None except the very first
distinguished themselves; and, even if they had done so, the poet could
not render any one conspicuous lest he should offend the others. He had
to consult the "Court and State Calendar;" and the delineation of the
persons therefore went off pretty dryly,--nay, even his contemporaries
very strongly reproached him with having described the horses better
than the men. But should not this redound to his credit, that he showed
his art just where an object for it presented itself? The main
difficulty, too, seems soon to have manifested itself to him,--since the
poem never advanced beyond the first canto.

Amidst such studies and reflections, an unexpected event surprised me,
and frustrated my laudable design of becoming acquainted with our new
literature from the beginning. My countryman, John George Schlosser,
after spending his academical years with industry and exertion, had
repaired to Frankfort-on-the-Main, in the customary profession of an
advocate; but his mind, aspiring and seeking after the universal, could
not reconcile itself to this situation for many reasons. He accepted,
without hesitation, an office as private secretary to the Duke Ludwig of
Wurtemberg, who resided in Treptow; for the prince was named among those
great men who, in a noble and independent manner, purposed to enlighten
themselves, their families, and the world, and to unite for higher aims.
It was this Prince Ludwig who, to ask advice about the education of his
children, had written to Rousseau, whose well-known answer began with
the suspicious-looking phrase, "/Si j'avais le malheur d'être né
prince/."

Not only in the affairs of the prince, but also in the education of his
children, Schlosser was now willingly to assist in word and deed, if not
to superintend them. This noble young man, who harbored the best
intentions and strove to attain a perfect purity of morals, would have
easily kept men from him by a certain dry austerity, if his fine and
rare literary cultivation, his knowledge of languages, and his facility
at expressing himself by writing, both in verse and prose, had not
attracted every one, and made living with him more agreeable. It had
been announced to me that he would pass through Leipzig, and I expected
him with longing. He came and put up at a little inn or wine-house that
stood in the /Brühl/ (Marsh), and the host of which was named
Schönkopf. This man had a Frankfort woman for his wife; and although he
entertained few persons during the rest of the year, and could lodge no
guests in his little house, yet at fair-time he was visited by many
Frankforters, who used to eat, and, in case of need, even take quarters,
there also. Thither I hastened to find Schlosser, when he had sent to
inform me of his arrival. I scarcely remembered having seen him before,
and found a young, well-formed man, with a round, compressed face,
without the features losing their sharpness on that account. The form of
his rounded forehead, between black eyebrows and locks, indicated
earnestness, sternness, and perhaps obstinacy. He was, in a certain
measure, the opposite of myself; and this very thing doubtless laid the
foundation of our lasting friendship. I had the greatest respect for his
talents, the more so as I very well saw, that, in the certainty with
which he acted and produced, he was completely my superior. The respect
and the confidence which I showed him confirmed his affection, and
increased the indulgence he was compelled to have for my lively,
impetuous, and ever-excitable disposition, in such contrast with his
own. He studied the English writers diligently: Pope, if not his model,
was his aim; and, in opposition to that author's "Essay on Man," he had
written a poem in like form and measure, which was to give the Christian
religion the triumph over the deism of the other work. From the great
store of papers which he carried with him, he showed me poetical and
prose compositions in all languages, which, as they challenged me to
imitation, once more gave me infinite disquietude. Yet I contrived to
get over it immediately by activity. I wrote German, French, English,
and Italian poems, addressed to him, the subject-matter of which I took
from our conversations, which were always important and instructive.

Schlosser did not wish to leave Leipzig without having seen face to face
the men who had a name. I willingly took him to those I knew: with those
whom I had not yet visited, I in this way became honorably acquainted;
since he was received with distinction as a well-informed man of
education, of already established character, and well knew how to pay
for the outlay of conversation. I cannot pass over our visit we paid to
Gottsched, as it exemplifies the character and manners of that man. He
lived very respectably in the first story of the Golden Bear, where the
elder Breitkopf, on account of the great advantage which Gottsched's
writings, translations, and other aids had brought to the trade, had
promised him a lodging for life.

We were announced. The servant led us into a large chamber, saying his
master would come immediately. Now, whether we misunderstood a gesture
which he made, I cannot say: it is enough, we thought he directed us
into an adjoining room. We entered, to witness a singular scene: for, on
the instant, Gottsched, that tall, broad, gigantic man, came in at the
opposite door in a morning-gown of green damask lined with red taffeta;
but his monstrous head was bald and uncovered. This, however, was to be
immediately provided for: the servant rushed in at a side-door with a
great full-bottomed wig in his hand (the curls came down to the elbows),
and handed the head-ornament to his master with gestures of terror.
Gottsched, without manifesting the least vexation, raised the wig from
the servant's arm with his left hand, and, while he very dexterously
swung it up on his head, gave the poor fellow such a box on the ear with
his right paw, that the latter, as often happens in a comedy, went
spinning out at the door; whereupon the respectable old grandfather
invited us quite gravely to be seated, and kept up a pretty long
discourse with good grace.

As long as Schlosser remained in Leipzig, I dined daily with him, and
became acquainted with a very pleasant set of boarders. Some Livonians,
and the son of Hermann (chief court-preacher in Dresden), afterwards
burgomaster in Leipzig, and their tutor, Hofrath Pfeil, author of the
"Count von P.," a continuation of Gellert's "Swedish Countess;"
Zachariä, a brother of the poet; and Krebel, editor of geographical and
genealogical manuals,--all these were polite, cheerful, and friendly
men. Zachariä was the most quiet; Pfeil, an elegant man, who had
something almost diplomatic about him, yet without affectation, and with
great good humor; Krebel, a genuine Falstaff, tall, corpulent, fair,
with prominent, merry eyes, as bright as the sky, always happy and in
good spirits. These persons all treated me in the most handsome manner,
partly on Schlosser's account--partly, too, on account of my own frank
good humor and obliging disposition; and it needed no great persuasion
to make me partake of their table in future. In fact, I remained with
them after Schlosser's departure, deserted Ludwig's table, and found
myself so much the better off in this society, which was limited to a
certain number, as I was very well pleased with the daughter of the
family, a very neat, pretty girl, and had opportunities to exchange
friendly glances with her,--a comfort which I had neither sought nor
found by accident since the mischance with Gretchen. I spent the dinner-
hours with my friends cheerfully and profitably. Krebel, indeed, loved
me, and continued to tease me and stimulate me in moderation: Pfeil, on
the contrary, showed his earnest affection for me by trying to guide and
settle my judgment upon many points.

During this intercourse, I perceived through conversation, through
examples, and through my own reflections, that the first step in
delivering ourselves from the wishy-washy, long-winded, empty epoch,
could be taken only by definiteness, precision, and brevity. In the
style which had hitherto prevailed, one could not distinguish the
commonplace from what was better; since all were brought down to a level
with each other. Authors had already tried to escape from this wide-
spread disease, with more or less success. Haller and Ramler were
inclined to compression by nature: Lessing and Wieland were led to it by
reflection. The former became by degrees quite epigrammatical in his
poems, terse in "Minna," laconic in "Emilia Galotti,"--it was not till
afterwards that he returned to that serene /naiveté/ which becomes
him so well in "Nathan." "Wieland, who had been occasionally prolix in
"Agathon," "Don Sylvio," and the "Comic Tales," becomes condensed and
precise to a wonderful degree, as well as exceedingly graceful in
"Musarion" and "Idris." Klopstock, in the first cantos of "The Messiah,"
is not without diffuseness: in his "Odes" and other minor poems he
appears compressed, as also in his tragedies. By his emulation of the
ancients, especially Tacitus, he sees himself constantly forced into
narrower limits, by which he at last becomes obscure and unpalatable.
Gerstenberg, a fine but eccentric talent, also distinguishes himself:
his merit is appreciated, but on the whole he gives little pleasure.
Gleim, diffuse and easy by nature, is scarcely once concise in his war-
songs. Ramler is properly more a critic than a poet. He begins to
collect what the Germans have accomplished in lyric poetry. He now
finds, that scarcely one poem fully satisfies him: he must leave out,
arrange, and alter, that the things may have some shape or other. By
this means he makes himself almost as many enemies as there are poets
and amateurs; since every one, properly speaking, recognizes himself
only in his defects: and the public interests itself sooner for a faulty
individuality than for that which is produced or amended according to a
universal law of taste. Rhythm lay yet in the cradle, and no one knew of
a method to shorten its childhood. Poetical prose came into the
ascendant. Gessner and Klopstock excited many imitators: others, again,
still demanded an intelligible metre, and translated this prose into
rhythm. But even these gave nobody satisfaction, for they were obliged
to omit and add; and the prose original always passed for the better of
the two. But the more, with all this, conciseness is aimed at, the more
does a judgment become possible; since that which is important, being
more closely compressed, allows a certain comparison at last. It
happened, also, at the same time, that many kinds of truly poetical
forms arose; for, as they tried to represent only what was necessary in
the objects they wished to imitate, they were forced to do justice to
every one of these: and in this manner, though no one did it
consciously, the modes of representation multiplied themselves, among
which, indeed, were some which were really caricatures, while many an
attempt proved unsuccessful.

Without question, Wieland possessed the finest natural gifts of all. He
had early cultivated himself thoroughly in those ideal regions where
youth so readily lingers; but when, by what is called experience, by the
events of the world, and women, these were rendered distasteful to him,
he threw himself on the side of the actual, and pleased himself and
others with the contest of the two worlds, where, in light skirmishing
between jest and earnest, his talent displayed itself most beautifully.
How many of his brilliant productions fall into the time of my academic
years! "Musarion" had the most effect upon me; and I can yet remember
the place and the very spot where I got sight of the first proof-sheet,
which Oeser gave me. Here it was that I believed I saw antiquity again
living and fresh. Every thing that is plastic in Wieland's genius here
showed itself in its highest perfection; and when that Phanias-Timon,
condemned to an unhappy insipidity, finally reconciles himself to his
mistress and to the world, one can well, with him, live through the
misanthropical epoch. For the rest, we readily conceded to these works a
cheerful aversion from those exalted sentiments, which, by reason of
their easy misapplication to life, are often open to the suspicion of
dreaminess. We pardoned the author for prosecuting with ridicule what we
held as true and reverend, the more readily as he thereby gave us to
understand that it caused him continual trouble.

How miserably criticism then received such labors may be seen from the
first volumes of "The Universal German Library." Of "The Comic Tales"
there is honorable mention, but there is no trace of any insight into
the character of the kind of poetry. The reviewer, like every one at
that time, had formed his taste by examples. He never takes it into
consideration, that, in a judgment of such parodistical works, one must
first of all have before one's eyes the original noble, beautiful
object, in order to see whether the parodist has really gotten from it a
weak and comical side, whether he has borrowed any thing from it, or,
under the appearance of such an imitation, has perhaps given us an
excellent invention of his own. Of all this there is not a notion, but
the poems are praised and blamed by passages. The reviewer, as he
himself confesses, has marked so much that pleased him, that he cannot
quote it all in print. When they even meet the highly meritorious
translation of Shakespeare with the exclamation, "By rights, a man like
Shakespeare should not have been translated at all!" it will be
understood, without further remark, how infinitely "The Universal German
Library" was behind-hand in matters of taste, and that young people,
animated by true feeling, had to look about them for other guiding
stars.

The material which, in this manner, more or less determined the form,
the Germans sought everywhere. They had handled few national subjects,
or none at all. Schlegel's "Hermann" only showed the way. The idyllic
tendency extended itself without end. The want of distinctive character
with Gessner, with all his great gracefulness and child-like heartiness,
made every one think that he could do something of the same kind. Just
in the same manner, out of the more generally human, some snatch those
poems which should have portrayed a foreign nationality, as, for
instance, the Jewish pastoral poems, those on the patriarchs altogether,
and whatever else related to the Old Testament. Bodmer's "Noachide" was
a perfect symbol of the watery deluge that swelled high around the
German Parnassus, and which abated but slowly. The leading-strings of
Anacreon likewise allowed innumerable mediocre geniuses to reel about at
large. The precision of Horace compelled the Germans, though but slowly,
to conform to him. Comic heroic poems, mostly after the model of Pope's
"Rape of the Lock," did not serve to bring in a better time.

I must here mention a delusion, which operated as seriously as it must
be ridiculous when one examines it more closely. The Germans had now
sufficient historical knowledge of all the kinds of poetry in which the
different nations had distinguished themselves. This pigeon-hole work,
which, properly speaking, totally destroys the inner conception of
poetry, had been already pretty completely hammered together by
Gottsched in his "Critical Art of Poetry;" and it had been shown at the
same time that German poets, too, had already known how to fill up all
the rubrics with excellent works. And thus it ever went on. Each year
the collection was more considerable, but every year one work pushed
another out of the place in which it had hitherto shone. We now
possessed, if not Homers, yet Virgils and Miltons; if not a Pindar, yet
a Horace; of Theocrituses there was no lack: and thus they weighed
themselves by comparisons from without; whilst the mass of poetical
works always increased, so that at last there could be a comparison from
within.

Now though matters of taste stood on a very uncertain footing, there
could be no dispute but that, within the Protestant part of Germany and
of Switzerland, what is generally called common sense began to stir
briskly at that epoch. The scholastic philosophy--which always has the
merit of propounding according to received axioms, in a favorite order,
and under fixed rubrics, every thing about which man can at all inquire-
-had, by the frequent darkness and apparent uselessness of its subject-
matter, by its unseasonable application of a method in itself
respectable, and by its too great extension over so many subjects, made
itself foreign to the mass, unpalatable, and at last superfluous. Many a
one became convinced that nature had endowed him with as great a portion
of good and straightforward sense as, perchance, he required to form
such a clear notion of objects that he could manage them and turn them
to his own profit, and that of others, without laboriously troubling
himself about the most universal problems, and inquiring how the most
remote things which do not particularly affect us may hang together. Men
made the trial, opened their eyes, looked straight before them,
observant, industrious, active, and believed, that, when one judges and
acts correctly in one's own circle, one may well presume to speak of
other things also, which lie at a greater distance.

In accordance with such a notion, every one was now entitled, not only
to philosophize, but also by degrees to consider himself a philosopher.
Philosophy, therefore, was more or less sound, and practised common
sense, which ventured to enter upon the universal, and to decide upon
inner and outer experiences. A clear-sighted acuteness and an especial
moderation, while the middle path and fairness to all opinions was held
to be right, procured respect and confidence for writings and oral
statements of the sort; and thus at last philosophers were found in all
the faculties,--nay, in all classes and trades.

In this way the theologians could not help inclining to what is called
natural religion; and, when the discussion was how far the light of
nature may suffice to advance us in the knowledge of God and the
improving and ennobling of ourselves, they commonly ventured to decide
in its favor without much scruple. According to the same principle of
moderation, they then granted equal rights to all positive religions, by
which they all became alike indifferent and uncertain. For the rest,
they let every thing stand; and since the Bible is so full of matter,
that, more than any other book, it offers material for reflection and
opportunity for meditation on human affairs, it could still, as before,
be always laid as the foundation of all sermons and other religious
treatises.

But over this work, as well as over the whole body of profane writers,
was impending a singular fate, which, in the lapse of time, was not to
be averted. Hitherto it had been received as a matter of implicit faith,
that this book of books was composed in one spirit; that it was even
inspired, and, as it were, dictated by the Divine Spirit. Yet for a long
time already the discrepancies of the different parts of it had been now
cavilled at, now apologized for, by believers and unbelievers. English,
French, and Germans had attacked the Bible with more or less violence,
acuteness, audacity, and wantonness; and just as often had it been taken
under the protection of earnest, sound-thinking men of each nation. As
for myself, I loved and valued it; for almost to it alone did I owe my
moral culture: and the events, the doctrines, the symbols, the similes,
had all impressed themselves deeply upon me, and had influenced me in
one way or another. These unjust, scoffing, and perverting attacks,
therefore, disgusted me; but people had already gone so far as very
willingly to admit, partly as a main ground for the defense of many
passages, that God had accommodated himself to the modes of thought and
power of comprehension in men; that even those moved by the Spirit had
not on that account been able to renounce their character, their
individuality, and that Amos, a cow-herd, did not use the language of
Isaiah, who is said to have been a prince.

Out of such views and convictions, especially with a constantly
increasing knowledge of languages, was very naturally developed that
kind of study by which it was attempted to examine more accurately the
Oriental localities, nationalities, natural products, and phenomena, and
in this manner to make present to one's self that ancient time.
Michaelis employed the whole strength of his talents and his knowledge
on this side. Descriptions of travels became a powerful help in
explaining the Holy Scriptures; and later travellers, furnished with
numerous questions, were made, by the answers to them, to bear witness
for the prophets and apostles.

But whilst they were on all sides busied to bring the Holy Scriptures to
a natural intuition, and to render peculiar modes of thought and
representation in them more universally comprehensible, that by this
historico-critical aspect many an objection might be removed, many
offensive things effaced, and many a shallow scoffing be made
ineffective, there appeared in some men just the opposite disposition,
since these chose the darkest, most mysterious, writings as the subject
of their meditations, and wished, if not to elucidate them, yet to
confirm them through internal evidence, by means of conjectures,
calculations, and other ingenious and strange combinations, and, so far
as they contained prophecies, to prove them by the results, and thus to
justify a faith in what was next to be expected.

The venerable Bengel had procured a decided reception for his labors on
the Revelation of St. John, from the fact that he was known as an
intelligent, upright, God-fearing, blameless man. Deep minds are
compelled to live in the past as well as in the future. The ordinary
movements of the world can be of no importance to them, if they do not,
in the course of ages up to the present, revere prophecies which have
been revealed, and in the immediate, as well as in the most remote
futurity, predictions still veiled. Hence arises a connection that is
wanting in history, which seems to give us only an accidental wavering
backwards and forwards in a necessarily limited circle. Doctor Crusius
was one of those whom the prophetic part of Scripture suited more than
any other, since it brings into action the two most opposite qualities
of human nature, the affections, and the acuteness of the intellect.
Many young men had devoted themselves to this doctrine, and already
formed a respectable body, which attracted the more attention, as
Ernesti with his friends threatened, not to illuminate, but completely
to disperse, the obscurity in which these delighted. Hence arose
controversies, hatred, persecution, and much that was unpleasant. I
attached myself to the lucid party, and sought to appropriate to myself
their principles and advantages; although I ventured to forebode, that
by this extremely praiseworthy, intelligent method of interpretation,
the poetic contents of the writings must at last be lost along with the
prophetical.

But those who devoted themselves to German literature and the /belles-
lettres/ were more nearly concerned with the efforts of such men,
who, as Jerusalem, Zollikofer, and Spalding, tried, by means of a good
and pure style in their sermons and treatises, to gain, even among
persons of a certain degree of sense and taste, applause and attachment
for religion, and for the moral philosophy which is so closely related
to it. A pleasing manner of writing began to be necessary everywhere;
and since such a manner must, above all, be comprehensible, so did
writers arise, on many sides, who undertook to write about their studies
and their professions clearly, perspicuously, and impressively, and as
well for the adepts as for the multitude.

After the example of Tissot, a foreigner, the physicians also now began
to labor zealously for the general cultivation. Haller, Unzer,
Zimmerman, had a very great influence; and whatever may be said against
them in detail, especially the last, they produced a very great effect
in their time. And mention should be made of this in history, but
particularly in biography; for a man remains of consequence, not so far
as he leaves something behind him, but so far as he acts and enjoys, and
rouses others to action and enjoyment.

The jurists, accustomed from their youth upward to an abstruse style,
which, in all legal papers, from the petty court of the Immediate Knight
up to the Imperial Diet at Ratisbon, was still maintained in all its
quaintness, could not easily elevate themselves to a certain freedom,
the less so as the subjects of which they had to treat were most
intimately connected with the external form, and consequently also with
the style. But the younger Von Moser had already shown himself an
independent and original writer; and Putter, by the clearness of his
delivery, had also brought clearness into his subject, and the style in
which he was to treat it. All that proceeded from his school was
distinguished by this. And even the philosophers, in order to be
popular, now found themselves compelled to write clearly and
intelligibly. Mendelssohn and Garve appeared, and excited universal
interest and admiration.

With the cultivation of the German language and style in every
department, the capacity for forming a judgment also increased, and we
admire the reviews then published of works upon religious and moral, as
well as medical, subjects; while, on the contrary, we remark that the
judgments of poems, and of whatever else may relate to the /belles-
lettres/, will be found, if not pitiful, at least very feeble. This
holds good of the "Literary Epistles" ("Literaturbriefen"), and of "The
Universal German Library," as well as of "The Library of the Belles-
Lettres," notable instances of which could easily be produced.

No matter in how motley a manner all this might be confused, still, for
every one who contemplated producing any thing from himself,--who would
not merely take the words and phrases out of the mouths of his
predecessors,--there was nothing further left but, early and late, to
look about him for some subject-matter which he might determine to use.
Here, too, we were much led astray. People were constantly repeating a
saying of Kleist, which we had to hear often enough. He had sportively,
ingeniously, and truly replied to those who took him to task on account
of his frequent, lonely walks, "that he was not idle at such times,--he
was going to the image-hunt." This simile was very suitable for a
nobleman and soldier, who by it placed himself in contrast with the men
of his rank, who did not neglect going out, with their guns on their
shoulders, hare-hunting and partridge-shooting, as often as an
opportunity presented itself. Hence we find in Kleist's poems many such
individual images, happily seized, although not always happily
elaborated, which, in a kindly manner, remind us of nature. But now they
also recommended us, quite seriously, to go out on the image-hunt, which
did not at last leave us wholly without fruit; although Apel's garden,
the kitchen-gardens, the Rosenthal, Golis, Raschwitz, and Konnewitz,
would be the oddest ground to beat up poetical game in. And yet I was
often induced by that motive to contrive that my walk should be
solitary; and because many objects neither beautiful nor sublime met the
eye of the beholder, and, in the truly splendid Rosenthal, the gnats, in
the best season of the year, allowed no tender thoughts to arise, so did
I, by unwearied, persevering endeavor, become extremely attentive to the
small life of nature (I would use this word after the analogy of "still
life"); and, since the pretty events which one perceives within this
circle represent but little in themselves, so I accustomed myself to see
in them a significance, which inclined now towards the symbolical, now
towards the allegorical, side, accordingly as intuition, feeling, or
reflection had the preponderance. I will relate one incident in place of
many.

I was, after the fashion of humanity, in love with my name, and, as
young, uneducated people commonly do, wrote it down everywhere. Once I
had carved it very handsomely and accurately on the smooth bark of a
linden-tree of moderate age. The following autumn, when my affection for
Annette was in its fullest bloom, I took the trouble to cut hers above
it. Towards the end of the winter, in the mean time, like a capricious
lover, I had wantonly sought many opportunities to tease her and cause
her vexation: in the spring I chanced to visit the spot; and the sap,
which was rising strongly in the trees, had welled out through the
incisions which formed her name, and which were not yet crusted over,
and moistened with innocent vegetable tears the already hardened traces
of my own. Thus to see her here weeping over me,--me, who had so often
called up her tears by my ill conduct, filled me with confusion. At the
remembrance of my injustice and of her love, even the tears came into my
eyes; I hastened to implore pardon of her, doubly and trebly: and I
turned this incident into an idyl, [Footnote: Die Laune des Verliebten,
translated as The Lover's Caprice, see p. 241.] which I never could read
to myself without affection, or to others without emotion.

While I now, like a shepherd on the Pleisse, was absorbed childishly
enough in such tender subjects, and always chose only such as I could
easily recall into my bosom, provision from a greater and more important
side had long been made for German poets.

The first true and really vital material of the higher order came into
German poetry through Frederick the Great and the deeds of the Seven
Years' War. All national poetry must be shallow or become shallow which
does not rest on that which is most universally human,--upon the events
of nations and their shepherds, when both stand for one man. Kings are
to be represented in war and danger, where, by that very means, they
appear as the first, because they determine and share the fate of the
very least, and thus become much more interesting than the gods
themselves, who, when they have once determined the fates, withdraw from
all participation in them. In this view of the subject, every nation, if
it would be worth any thing at all, must possess an epopee, to which the
precise form of the epic poem is not necessary.

The war-songs started by Gleim maintain so high a rank among German
poems, because they arose with and in the achievements which are their
subject; and because, moreover, their felicitous form, just as if a
fellow-combatant had produced them in the loftiest moments, makes us
feel the most complete effectiveness.

Ramler sings the deeds of his king in a different and most noble manner.
All his poems are full of matter, and occupy us with great, heart-
elevating objects, and thus already maintain an indestructible value.

For the internal matter of the subject treated is the beginning and end
of art. It will not, indeed, be denied that genius, that thoroughly
cultivated artistical talent, can make every thing out of every thing by
its method of treatment, and can subdue the most refractory material.
But, when closely examined, the result is rather a trick of art than a
work of art, which should rest upon a worthy object, that the treatment
of it, by skill, pains, and industry, may present to us the dignity of
the subject-matter only the more happily and splendidly.

The Prussians, and with them Protestant Germany, acquired thus for their
literature a treasure which the opposite party lacked, and the want of
which they have been able to supply by no subsequent endeavors. Upon the
great idea which the Prussian writers might well entertain of their
king, they first established themselves, and the more zealously as he,
in whose name they did it all, wished once for all to know nothing about
them. Already before this, through the French colony, afterwards through
the king's predilection for the literature of that nation and for their
financial institutions, had a mass of French civilization come into
Prussia, which was highly advantageous to the Germans, since by it they
were challenged to contradiction and resistance; thus the very aversion
of Frederick from German was a fortunate thing for the formation of its
literary character. They did every thing to attract the king's
attention, not indeed to be honored, but only noticed, by him; yet they
did it in German fashion, from an internal conviction; they did what
they held to be right, and desired and wished that the king should
recognize and prize this German uprightness. That did not and could not
happen; for how can it be required of a king, who wishes to live and
enjoy himself intellectually, that he shall lose his years in order to
see what he thinks barbarous developed and rendered palatable too late?
In matters of trade and manufacture, he might indeed force upon himself,
but especially upon his people, very moderate substitutes instead of
excellent foreign wares; but here every thing comes to perfection more
rapidly, and it needs not a man's life-time to bring such things to
maturity.

But I must here, first of all, make honorable mention of one work, the
most genuine production of the Seven Years' War, and of perfect North-
German nationality: it is the first theatrical production caught from
the important events of life, one of specific, temporary value, and one
which therefore produced an incalculable effect,--"Minna von Barnhelm."
Lessing, who, in opposition to Klopstock and Gleim, was fond of casting
off his personal dignity, because he was confident that he could at any
moment grasp and take it up again, delighted in a dissipated life in
taverns and the world, as he always needed a strong counterpoise to his
powerfully laboring interior; and for this reason, also, he had joined
the suite of Gen. Tauentzien. One easily discovers how the above-
mentioned piece was generated betwixt war and peace, hatred and
affection. It was this production which happily opened the view into a
higher, more significant, world, from the literary and citizen world in
which poetic art had hitherto moved.

The intense hatred in which the Prussians and Saxons stood towards each
other during this war could not be removed by its termination. The Saxon
now first felt, with true bitterness, the wounds which the upstart
Prussian had inflicted upon him. Political peace could not immediately
re-establish a peace between their dispositions. But this was to be
brought about symbolically by the above-mentioned drama. The grace and
amiability of the Saxon ladies conquer the worth, the dignity, and the
stubbornness of the Prussians; and, in the principal as well as in the
subordinate characters, a happy union of bizarre and contradictory
elements is artistically represented.

If I have put my reader in some perplexity by these cursory and
desultory remarks on German literature, I have succeeded in giving them
a conception of that chaotic condition in which my poor brain found
itself, when, in the conflict of two epochs so important for the
literary fatherland, so much that was new crowded in upon me before I
could come to terms with the old, so much that was old yet made me feel
its right over me, when I believed I had already cause to venture on
renouncing it altogether. I will at present try to impart, as well as
possible, the way I entered on to extricate myself from this difficulty,
if only step by step.

The period of prolixity into which my youth had fallen, I had labored
through with genuine industry, in company with so many worthy men. The
numerous quarto volumes of manuscript which I left behind with my father
might serve for sufficient witnesses of this; and what a mass of essays,
rough draughts, and half-executed designs, had, more from despondency
than conviction, gone up in smoke! Now, through conversation, through
instruction in general, through so many conflicting opinions, but
especially through my fellow-boarder Hofrath Pfeil, I learned to value
more and more the importance of the subject-matter and the conciseness
of the treatment; without, however, being able to make it clear to
myself where the former was to be sought, or how the latter was to be
attained. For, what with the great narrowness of my situation; what with
the indifference of my companions, the reserve of the professors, the
exclusiveness of the educated inhabitants; and what with the perfect
insignificance of the natural objects,--I was compelled to seek for
every thing within myself. Whenever I desired a true basis in feeling or
reflection for my poems, I was forced to grasp into my own bosom;
whenever I required for my poetic representation an immediate intuition
of an object or an event, I could not step outside the circle which was
fitted to teach me, and inspire me with an interest. In this view I
wrote at first certain little poems, in the form of songs or in a freer
measure: they are founded on reflection, treat of the past, and for the
most part take an epigrammatic turn.

And thus began that tendency from which I could not deviate my whole
life through; namely, the tendency to turn into an image, into a poem,
every thing that delighted or troubled me, or otherwise occupied me, and
to come to some certain understanding with myself upon it, that I might
both rectify my conceptions of external things, and set my mind at rest
about them. The faculty of doing this was necessary to no one more than
to me, for my natural disposition whirled me constantly from one extreme
to the other. All, therefore, that has been confessed by me, consists of
fragments of a great confession; and this little book is an attempt
which I have ventured on to render it complete.

My early affection for Gretchen I had now transferred to one Annette
(/Aennchen/), of whom I can say nothing more than that she was
young, handsome, sprightly, loving, and so agreeable that she well
deserved to be set up for a time in the shrine of the heart as a little
saint, that she might receive all that reverence which it often causes
more pleasure to bestow than to receive. I saw her daily without
hinderance; she helped to prepare the meals I enjoyed; she brought, in
the evening at least, the wine I drank; and indeed our select club of
noon-day boarders was a warranty that the little house, which was
visited by few guests except during the fair, well merited its good
reputation. Opportunity and inclination were found for various kinds of
amusement. But, as she neither could nor dared go much out of the house,
the pastime was somewhat limited. We sang the songs of Zachariä; played
the "Duke Michael" of Krüger, in which a knotted handkerchief had to
take the place of the nightingale; and so, for a while, it went on quite
tolerably. But since such connections, the more innocent they are,
afford the less variety in the long run, I was seized with that wicked
distemper which seduces us to derive amusement from the torment of a
beloved one, and to domineer over a girl's devotedness with wanton and
tyrannical caprice. My ill humor at the failure of my poetical attempts,
at the apparent impossibility of coming to a clear understanding about
them, and at every thing else that might pinch me here and there, I
thought I might vent on her, because she truly loved me with all her
heart, and did whatever she could to please me. By unfounded and absurd
fits of jealousy, I destroyed our most delightful days, both for myself
and her. She endured it for a time with incredible patience, which I was
cruel enough to try to the uttermost. But, to my shame and despair, I
was at last forced to remark that her heart was alienated from me, and
that I might now have good ground for the madness in which I had
indulged without necessity and without cause. There were also terrible
scenes between us, in which I gained nothing; and I then first felt that
I had truly loved her, and could not bear to lose her. My passion grew,
and assumed all the forms of which it is capable under such
circumstances; nay, at last I even took up the /rôle/ which the
girl had hitherto played. I sought every thing possible in order to be
agreeable to her, even to procure her pleasure by means of others; for I
could not renounce the hope of winning her again. But it was too late! I
had lost her really; and the frenzy with which I revenged my fault upon
myself, by assaulting in various frantic ways my physical nature, in
order to inflict some hurt on my moral nature, contributed very much to
the bodily maladies under which I lost some of the best years of my
life: indeed, I should perchance have been completely ruined by this
loss, had not my poetic talent here shown itself particularly helpful
with its healing power.

Already, at many intervals before, I had clearly enough perceived my ill
conduct. I really pitied the poor child, when I saw her so thoroughly
wounded by me, without necessity. I pictured to myself so often and so
circumstantially her condition and my own, and, as a contrast, the
contented state of another couple in our company, that at last I could
not forbear treating this situation dramatically, as a painful and
instructive penance. Hence arose the oldest of my extant dramatic
labors, the little piece entitled, "Die Laune des Verliebten" ("The
Lover's Caprice"), in the simple nature of which one may at the same
time perceive the impetus of a boiling passion.

But, before this, a deep, significant, impulsive world had already
interested me. Through my adventure with Gretchen and its consequences,
I had early looked into the strange labyrinths by which civil society is
undermined. Religion, morals, law, rank, connections, custom, all rule
only the surface of city existence. The streets, bordered by splendid
houses, are kept neat; and every one behaves himself there properly
enough: but, indoors, it often seems only so much the more disordered;
and a smooth exterior, like a thin coat of mortar, plasters over many a
rotten wall that tumbles together overnight, and produces an effect the
more frightful, as it comes into the midst of a condition of repose. A
great many families, far and near, I had seen already, either
overwhelmed in ruin or kept miserably hanging on the brink of it, by
means of bankruptcies, divorces, seduced daughters, murders, house-
robberies, poisonings; and, young as I was, I had often, in such cases,
lent a hand for help and preservation. For as my frankness awakened
confidence; as my secrecy was proved; as my activity feared no
sacrifice, and loved best to exert itself in the most dangerous
affairs,--I had often enough found opportunity to mediate, to hush up,
to divert the lightning-flash, with every other assistance of the kind;
in the course of which, as well in my own person as through others, I
could not fail to come to the knowledge of many afflicting and
humiliating facts. To relieve myself I designed several plays, and wrote
the arguments [Footnote: "/Exposition/," in a dramatic sense,
properly means a statement of the events which take place before the
action of the play commences.--TRANS.] of most of them. But since the
intrigues were always obliged to be painful, and almost all these pieces
threatened a tragical conclusion, I let them drop one after another.
"Die Mitschuldigen" ("The Accomplices") is the only one that was
finished, the cheerful and burlesque tone of which upon the gloomy
family-ground appears as if accompanied by something causing anxiety; so
that, on the whole, it is painful in representation, although it pleases
in detached passages. The illegal deeds, harshly expressed, wound the
aesthetic and moral feeling, and the piece could therefore find no favor
on the German stage; although the imitations of it, which steered clear
of those rocks, were received with applause.

Both the above-mentioned pieces were, however, written from a more
elevated point of view, without my having been aware of it. They direct
us to a considerate forbearance in casting moral imputations, and in
somewhat harsh and coarse touches sportively express that most Christian
maxim, /Let him who is without sin among you cast the first stone/.

Through this earnestness, which cast a gloom over my first pieces, I
committed the mistake of neglecting very favorable materials which lay
quite decidedly in my natural disposition. In the midst of these
serious, and, for a young man, fearful, experiences, was developed in me
a reckless humor, which feels itself superior to the moment, and not
only fears no danger, but rather wantonly courts it. The reason of this
lay in the exuberance of spirits in which the vigorous time of life so
much delights, and which, if it manifests itself in a frolicsome way,
causes much pleasure, both at the moment and in remembrance. These
things are so usual, that, in the vocabulary of our young university
friends, they are called /Suites/; and, on account of the close
similarity of signification, to say "play /suites/," means just the
same as to "play pranks." [Footnote: The real meaning of the passage is,
that the idiom "Possen reissen" is used also with the university word
"Suite," so that one can say "Suiten reissen."--TRANS.]

Such humorous acts of daring, brought on the theatre with wit and sense,
are of the greatest effect. They are distinguished from intrigue,
inasmuch as they are momentary, and that their aim, whenever they are to
have one, must not be remote. Beaumarchais has seized their full value,
and the effects of his "Figaro" spring pre-eminently from this. Whereas
such good-humored roguish and half-knavish pranks are practised with
personal risk for noble ends, the situations which arise from them are
aesthetically and morally considered of the greatest value for the
theatre; as, for instance, the opera of "The Water-Carrier" treats
perhaps the happiest subject which we have ever yet seen upon the stage.

To enliven the extreme tedium of daily life, I played off numberless
tricks of the sort, partly without any aim at all, partly in the service
of my friends, whom I liked to please. For myself, I could not say that
I had once acted in this designedly, nor did I ever happen to consider a
feat of the kind as a subject for art. Had I, however, seized upon and
elaborated such materials, which were so close at hand, my earliest
labors would have been more cheerful and available. Some incidents of
this kind occur indeed later, but isolated and without design. For since
the heart always lies nearer to us than the head, and gives us trouble,
whereas the latter knows how to set matters to rights, the affairs of
the heart had always appeared to me as the most important. I was never
weary of reflecting upon the transient nature of attachments, the
mutability of human character, moral sensuality, and all the heights and
depths, the combination of which in our nature may be considered as the
riddle of human life. Here, too, I sought to get rid of that which
troubled me, in a song, an epigram, in some kind of rhyme; which, since
they referred to the most private feelings and the most peculiar
circumstances, could scarcely interest any one but myself.

In the mean time, my external position had very much changed after the
lapse of a short time. Madame Böhme, after a long and melancholy
illness, had at last died: she had latterly ceased to admit me to her
presence. Her husband could not be very much satisfied with me: I seemed
to him not sufficiently industrious, and too frivolous. He especially
took it very ill of me, when it was told him, that at the lectures on
German Public Law, instead of taking proper notes, I had been drawing on
the margin of my note-book the personages presented to our notice in
them, such as the President of the Chamber, the Moderators and
Assessors, in strange wigs; and by this drollery had disturbed my
attentive neighbors and set them laughing. After the loss of his wife he
lived still more retired than before, and at last I shunned him in order
to avoid his reproaches. But it was peculiarly unfortunate that Gellert
would not use the power which he might have exercised over us. Indeed,
he had not time to play the father-confessor, and to inquire after the
character and faults of everybody: he therefore took the matter very
much in the lump, and thought to curb us by means of the church forms.
For this reason he commonly, when he admitted us to his presence, used
to lower his little head, and, in his weeping, winning voice, to ask us
whether we went regularly to church, who was our confessor, and whether
we took the holy communion? If we came off badly at this examination, we
were dismissed with lamentations: we were more vexed than edified, yet
could not help loving the man heartily.

On this occasion I cannot forbear recalling somewhat of my earlier
youth, in order to make it obvious that the great affairs of the
ecclesiastical religion must be carried on with order and coherence, if
they are to prove as fruitful as is expected. The Protestant service has
too little fulness and consistency to be able to hold the congregation
together; hence it easily happens that members secede from it, and
either form little congregations of their own, or, without
ecclesiastical connection, quietly carry on their citizen-life side by
side. Thus for a considerable time complaints were made that church-
goers were diminishing from year to year, and, just in the same ratio,
the persons who partook of the Lord's Supper. With respect to both, but
especially the latter, the cause lies close at hand; but who dares to
speak it out? We will make the attempt.

In moral and religious, as well as in physical and civil, matters, man
does not like to do any thing on the spur of the moment; he needs a
sequence from which results habit; what he is to love and to perform, he
cannot represent to himself as single or isolated; and, if he is to
repeat any thing willingly, it must not have become strange to him. If
the Protestant worship lacks fulness in general, so let it be
investigated in detail, and it will be found that the Protestant has too
few sacraments,--nay, indeed, he has only one in which he is himself an
actor,--the Lord's Supper; for baptism he sees only when it is performed
on others, and is not greatly edified by it. The sacraments are the
highest part of religion, the symbols to our senses of an extraordinary
divine favor and grace. In the Lord's Supper earthly lips are to receive
a divine Being embodied, and partake of a heavenly under the form of an
earthly nourishment. This import is the same in all kinds of Christian
churches: whether the sacrament is taken with more or less submission to
the mystery, with more or less accommodation as to that which is
intelligible, it always remains a great, holy thing, which in reality
takes the place of the possible or the impossible, the place of that
which man can neither attain nor do without. But such a sacrament should
not stand alone: no Christian can partake of it with the true joy for
which it is given, if the symbolical or sacramental sense is not
fostered within him. He must be accustomed to regard the inner religion
of the heart and that of the external church as perfectly one, as the
great universal sacrament, which again divides itself into so many
others, and communicates to these parts its holiness,
indestructibleness, and eternity.

Here a youthful pair join hands, not for a passing salutation or for the
dance: the priest pronounces his blessing upon them, and the bond is
indissoluble. It is not long before this wedded pair bring a likeness to
the threshold of the altar: it is purified with holy water, and so
incorporated into the church, that it cannot forfeit this benefit but
through the most monstrous apostasy. The child in the course of life
goes on progressing in earthly things of his own accord, in heavenly
things he must be instructed. Does it prove on examination that this has
been fully done, he is now received into the bosom of the church as an
actual citizen, as a true and voluntary professor, not without outward
tokens of the weightiness of this act. Now, only, he is decidedly a
Christian, now for the first time he knows his advantages and also his
duties. But, in the mean time, a great deal that is strange has happened
to him as a man: through instruction and affliction he has come to know
how critical appears the state of his inner self, and there will
constantly be a question of doctrines and of transgressions; but
punishment shall no longer take place. For here, in the infinite
confusion in which he must entangle himself, amid the conflict of
natural and religious claims, an admirable expedient is given him, in
confiding his deeds and misdeeds, his infirmities and doubts, to a
worthy man, appointed expressly for that purpose, who knows how to calm,
to warn, to strengthen him, to chasten him likewise by symbolical
punishments, and at last, by a complete washing away of his guilt, to
render him happy, and to give him back, pure and cleansed, the tablet of
his manhood. Thus prepared, and purely set at rest by several
sacramental acts, which on closer examination branch forth again into
minuter sacramental traits, he kneels down to receive the host; and,
that the mystery of this high act may be still enhanced, he sees the
chalice only in the distance: it is no common eating and drinking that
satisfies, it is a heavenly feast, which makes him thirst after heavenly
drink.

Yet let not the youth believe that this is all he has to do; let not
even the man believe it. In earthly relations we are at last accustomed
to depend on ourselves; and, even there, knowledge, understanding, and
character will not always suffice: in heavenly things, on the contrary,
we have never finished learning. The higher feeling within us, which
often finds itself not even truly at home, is, besides, oppressed by so
much from without, that our own power hardly administers all that is
necessary for counsel, consolation, and help. But, to this end, that
remedy is instituted for our whole life; and an intelligent, pious man
is continually waiting to show the right way to the wanderers, and to
relieve the distressed.

And what has been so well tried through the whole life, is now to show
forth all its healing power with tenfold activity at the gate of Death.
According to a trustful custom, inculcated from youth upwards, the dying
man receives with fervor those symbolical, significant assurances; and
there, where every earthly warranty fails, he is assured, by a heavenly
one, of a blessed existence for all eternity. He feels perfectly
convinced that neither a hostile element nor a malignant spirit can
hinder him from clothing himself with a glorified body, so that, in
immediate relation with the Godhead, he may partake of the boundless
happiness which flows forth from him.

Then, in conclusion, that the whole may be made holy, the feet also are
anointed and blessed. They are to feel, even in the event of possible
recovery, a repugnance to touching this earthly, hard, impenetrable
soil. A wonderful elasticity is to be imparted to them, by which they
spurn from under them the clod of earth which hitherto attracted them.
And so, through a brilliant cycle of equally holy acts, the beauty of
which we have only briefly hinted at, the cradle and the grave, however
far asunder they may chance to be, are joined in one continuous circle.

But all these spiritual wonders spring not, like other fruits, from the
natural soil, where they can neither be sown nor planted nor cherished.
We must supplicate for them from another region,--a thing which cannot
be done by all persons nor at all times. Here we meet the highest of
these symbols, derived from pious tradition. We are told that one man
may be more favored, blessed, and sanctified from above than another.
But, that this may not appear as a natural gift, this great boon, bound
up with a heavy duty, must be communicated to others by one authorized
person to another; and the greatest good that a man can attain, without
his having to obtain it by his own wrestling or grasping, must be
preserved and perpetuated on earth by spiritual inheritance. In the very
ordination of the priest is comprehended all that is necessary for the
effectual solemnizing of those holy acts by which the multitude receive
grace, without any other activity being needful on their part than that
of faith and implicit confidence. And thus the priest joins the line of
his predecessors and successors, in the circle of those anointed with
him, representing the highest source of blessings, so much the more
gloriously, as it is not he, the priest, whom we reverence, but his
office: it is not his nod to which we bow the knee, but the blessing
which he imparts, and which seems the more holy, and to come the more
immediately from heaven, because the earthly instrument cannot at all
weaken or invalidate it by its own sinful, nay, wicked, nature.

How is this truly spiritual connection shattered to pieces in
Protestantism, by part of the above-mentioned symbols being declared
apocryphal, and only a few canonical!--and how, by their indifference to
one of these, will they prepare us for the high dignity of the others?

In my time I had been confided to the religious instruction of a good
old infirm clergyman, who had been confessor of the family for many
years. The "Catechism," a "Paraphrase" of it, and the "Scheme of
Salvation," I had at my finger's ends: I lacked not one of the strongly
proving biblical texts, but from all this I reaped no fruit; for, as
they assured me that the honest old man arranged his chief examimation
according to an old set form, I lost all pleasure and inclination for
the business, spent the last week in all sorts of diversions, laid in my
hat the loose leaves borrowed from an older friend, who had gotten them
from the clergyman, and unfeelingly and senselessly read aloud all that
I should have known how to utter with feeling and conviction.

But I found my good intention and my aspirations in this important
matter still more paralyzed by a dry, spiritless routine, when I was now
to approach the confessional. I was indeed conscious of having many
failings, but no great faults; and that very consciousness diminished
them, since it directed me to the moral strength which lay within me,
and which, with resolution and perseverance, was at last to become
master over the old Adam. We were taught that we were much better than
the Catholics for the very reason, that we were not obliged to confess
any thing in particular in the confessional,--nay, that this would not
be at all proper, even if we wished to do it. I did not like this at
all; for I had the strangest religious doubts, which I would readily
have had cleared up on such an occasion. Now, as this was not to be
done, I composed a confession for myself, which, while it well expressed
my state of mind, was to confess to an intelligent man, in general
terms, that which I was forbidden to tell him in detail. But when I
entered the old choir of the Barefoot Friars, when I approached the
strange latticed closets in which the reverend gentlemen used to be
found for that purpose, when the sexton opened the door for me, when I
now saw myself shut up in the narrow place face to face with my
spiritual grandsire, and he bade me welcome with his weak, nasal voice,
all the light of my mind and heart was extinguished at once, the well-
conned confession-speech would not cross my lips: in my embarrassment I
opened the book I had in my hand, and read from it the first short form
I saw, which was so general, that anybody might have spoken it with
quite a safe conscience. I received absolution, and withdrew neither
warm nor cold; went the next day with my parents to the Table of the
Lord, and, for a few days, behaved myself as was becoming after so holy
an act.

In the sequel, however, there came over me that evil, which, from the
fact of our religion being complicated by various dogmas, and founded on
texts of scripture which admit of several interpretations, attacks
scrupulous men in such a manner, that it brings on a hypochondriacal
condition, and raises this to its highest point, to fixed ideas. I have
known several men, who, though their manner of thinking and living was
perfectly rational, could not free themselves from thinking about the
sin against the Holy Ghost, and from the fear that they had committed
it. A similar trouble threatened me on the subject of the communion; for
the text, that one who unworthily partakes of the sacrament /eateth
and drinketh damnation to himself/, had, very early, already made a
monstrous impression upon me. Every fearful thing that I had read in the
histories of the Middle Ages, of the judgments of God, of those most
strange ordeals, by red-hot iron, flaming fire, swelling water, and even
what the Bible tells us of the draught which agrees well with the
innocent, but puffs up and bursts the guilty,--all this pictured itself
to my imagination, and formed itself into the most frightful
combinations; since false vows, hypocrisy, perjury, blasphemy, all
seemed to weigh down the unworthy person at this most holy act, which
was so much the more horrible, as no one could dare to pronounce himself
worthy: and the forgiveness of sins, by which every thing was to be at
last; done away, was found limited by so many conditions, that one could
not with certainty dare appropriate it to one's self.

This gloomy scruple troubled me to such a degree, and the expedient
which they would represent to me as sufficient seemed so bald and
feeble, that it gave the bugbear only a more fearful aspect; and, as
soon as I had reached Leipzig, I tried to free myself altogether from my
connection with the church. How oppressive, then, must have been to me
the exhortations of Gellert, whom, considering the generally laconic
style with which he was obliged to repel our obtrusiveness, I was
unwilling to trouble with such singular questions, and the less so as in
my more cheerful hours I was myself ashamed of them, and at last left
completely behind me this strange anguish of conscience, together with
church and altar.

Gellert, in accordance with his pious feelings, had composed for himself
a course of ethics, which from time to time he publicly read, and thus
in an honorable manner acquitted himself of his duty to the public.
Gellert's writings had already, for a long time, been the foundation of
German moral culture, and every one anxiously wished to see that work
printed; but, as this was not to be done till after the good man's
death, people thought themselves very fortunate to hear him deliver it
himself in his lifetime. The philosophical auditorium [Footnote: The
lecture-room. The word is also used in university language to denote a
professor's audience.] was at such times crowded: and the beautiful
soul, the pure will, and the interest of the noble man in our welfare,
his exhortations, warnings, and entreaties, uttered in a somewhat hollow
and sorrowful tone, made indeed an impression for the moment; but this
did not last long, the less so as there were many scoffers, who
contrived to make us suspicious of this tender, and, as they thought,
enervating, manner. I remember a Frenchman travelling through the town,
who asked what were the maxims and opinions of the man who attracted
such an immense concourse. "When we had given him the necessary
information, he shook his head, and said, smiling, "/Laissez le faire,
il nous forme des dupes./"

And thus also did good society, which cannot easily endure any thing
worthy near it, know how to spoil, on occasion, the moral influence
which Gellert might have had upon us. Now it was taken ill of him that
he instructed the Danes of distinction and wealth, who were particularly
recommended to him, better than the other students, and had a marked
solicitude for them; now he was charged with selfishness and nepotism
for causing a /table d'hôte/ to be established for these young men
at his brother's house. This brother, a tall, good-looking, blunt,
unceremonious, and somewhat coarse, man, had, it was said, been a
fencing-master; and, notwithstanding the too great lenity of his
brother, the noble boarders were often treated harshly and roughly:
hence the people thought they must again take the part of these young
folks, and pulled about the good reputation of the excellent Gellert to
such a degree, that, in order not to be mistaken about him, we became
indifferent towards him, and visited him no more; yet we always saluted
him in our best manner when he came riding along on his tame gray horse.
This horse the elector had sent him, to oblige him to take an exercise
so necessary for his health,--a distinction for which he was not easily
to be forgiven.

And thus, by degrees, the epoch approached when all authority was to
vanish from before me, and I was to become suspicious--nay, to despair,
even--of the greatest and best individuals whom I had known or imagined.

Frederick the Second still stood at the head of all the distinguished
men of the century in my thoughts; and it must therefore have appeared
very surprising to me, that I could praise him as little before the
inhabitants of Leipzig as formerly in my grandfather's house. They had
felt the hand of war heavily, it is true; and therefore they were not to
blame for not thinking the best of him who had begun and continued it.
They, therefore, were willing to let him pass as a distinguished, but by
no means as a great, man. "There was no art," they said, "in performing
something with great means; and, if one spares neither lands nor money
nor blood, one may well accomplish one's purpose at last. Frederick had
shown himself great in none of his plans, and in nothing that he had,
properly speaking, undertaken. So long as it depended on himself, he had
only gone on making blunders, and what was extraordinary in him had only
come to light when he was compelled to make these blunders good again.
It was purely from this that he had obtained his great reputation; since
every man wishes for himself that same talent of making good, in a
clever way, the blunders which he frequently commits. If one goes
through the Seven Years' War, step by step, it will be found that the
king quite uselessly sacrificed his fine army, and that it was his own
fault that this ruinous feud had been protracted to so great a length. A
truly great man and general would have got the better of his enemies
much sooner." In support of these opinions they could cite infinite
details, which I did not know how to deny; and I felt the unbounded
reverence which I had devoted to this remarkable prince, from my youth
upwards, gradually cooling away.

As the inhabitants of Leipzig had now destroyed for me the pleasant
feeling of revering a great man; so did a new friend, whom I gained at
the time, very much diminish the respect which I entertained for my
present fellow-citizens. This friend was one of the strangest fellows in
the world. He was named Behrisch, and was tutor to the young Count
Lindenau. Even his exterior was singular enough. Lean and well-built,
far advanced in the thirties, a very large nose, and altogether marked
features: he wore from morning till night a scratch which might well
have been called a peruke, but dressed himself very neatly, and never
went out but with his sword by his side, and his hat under his arm. He
was one of those men who have quite a peculiar gift of killing time, or,
rather, who know how to make something out of nothing, in order to pass
time away. Every thing he did had to be done with slowness, and with a
certain deportment which might have been called affected if Behrisch had
not even by nature had something affected in his manner. He resembled an
old Frenchman, and also spoke and wrote French very well and easily. His
greatest delight was to busy himself seriously about drolleries, and to
follow up without end any silly notion. Thus he was constantly dressed
in gray; and as the different parts of his attire were of different
material, and also of different shades, he could reflect for whole days
as to how he should procure one gray more for his body, and was happy
when he had succeeded in this, and could put to shame us who had doubted
it, or had pronounced it impossible. He then gave us long, severe
lectures about our lack of inventive power, and our want of faith in his
talents.

For the rest, he had studied well, was particularly versed in the modern
languages and their literature, and wrote an excellent hand. He was very
well disposed towards me; and I, having been always accustomed and
inclined to the society of older persons, soon attached myself to him.
My intercourse served him, too, for a special amusement; since he took
pleasure in taming my restlessness and impatience, with which, on the
other hand, I gave him enough to do. In the art of poetry he had what is
called taste,--a certain general opinion about the good and bad, the
mediocre and tolerable: but his judgment was rather censorious; and he
destroyed even the little faith in contemporary writers which I
cherished within me, by unfeeling remarks, which he knew how to advance
with wit and humor, about the writings and poems of this man and that.
He received my productions with indulgence, and let me have my own way,
but only on the condition that I should have nothing printed. He
promised me, on the other hand, that he himself would copy those pieces
which he thought good, and would present me with them in a handsome
volume. This undertaking now afforded an opportunity for the greatest
possible waste of time. For before he could find the right paper, before
he could make up his mind as to the size, before he had settled the
breadth of the margin and the form of handwriting, before the crow-
quills were provided and cut into pens, and Indian ink was rubbed, whole
weeks passed, without the least bit having been done. With just as much
ado he always set about his writing, and really, by degrees, put
together a most charming manuscript. The title of the poems was in
German text; the verses themselves in a perpendicular Saxon hand; and at
the end of every poem was an analogous vignette, which he had either
selected somewhere or other, or had invented himself, and in which he
contrived to imitate very neatly the hatching of the wood-cuts and tail-
pieces which are used for such purposes. To show me these things as he
went on, to celebrate beforehand in a comico-pathetical manner my good
fortune in seeing myself immortalized in such exquisite handwriting, and
that in a style which no printing-press could attain, gave another
occasion for passing the most agreeable hours. In the mean time, his
intercourse was always secretly instructive, by reason of his liberal
acquirements, and, as he knew how to subdue my restless, impetuous
disposition, was also quite wholesome for me in a moral sense. He had,
too, quite a peculiar abhorrence of roughness; and his jests were always
quaint without ever falling into the coarse or the trivial. He indulged
himself in a distorted aversion from his countrymen, and described with
ludicrous touches even what they were able to undertake. He was
particularly inexhaustible in a comical representation of individual
persons, as he found something to find fault with in the exterior of
every one. Thus, when we lay together at the window, he could occupy
himself for hours criticising the passers-by, and, when he had censured
them long enough, in showing exactly and circumstantially how they ought
to have dressed themselves, ought to have walked, and ought to have
behaved, to look like orderly people. Such attempts, for the most part,
ended in something improper and absurd; so that we did not so much laugh
at how the man looked, but at how, perchance, he might have looked had
he been mad enough to caricature himself. In all such matters. Behrisch
went quite unmercifully to work, without being in the slightest degree
malicious. On the other hand, we knew how to tease him, on our side, by
assuring him, that, to judge from his exterior, he must be taken, if not
for a French dancing-master, at least for the academical teacher of the
language. This reproval was usually the signal for dissertations an hour
long, in which he used to set forth the difference, wide as the heavens,
which there was between him and an old Frenchman. At the same time he
commonly imputed to us all sorts of awkward attempts, that we might
possibly have made for the alteration and modification of his wardrobe.

My poetical compositions, which I only carried on the more zealously as
the transcript went on becoming more beautiful and more careful, now
inclined altogether to the natural and the true: and if the subjects
could not always be important, I nevertheless always endeavored to
express them clearly and pointedly, the more so as my friend often gave
me to understand what a great thing it was to write down a verse on
Dutch paper, with the crow-quill and Indian ink; what time, talent, and
exertion it required, which ought not to be squandered on any thing
empty and superfluous. He would, at the same time, open a finished
parcel, and circumstantially to explain what ought not to stand in this
or that place, or congratulate us that it actually did not stand there.
He then spoke with great contempt of the art of printing, mimicked the
compositor, ridiculed his gestures and his hurried picking out of
letters here and there, and derived from this manoeuvre all the
calamities of literature. On the other hand, he extolled the grace and
noble posture of a writer, and immediately sat down himself to exhibit
it to us; while he rated us at the same time for not demeaning ourselves
at the writing-table precisely after his example and model. He now
reverted to the contrast with the compositor, turned a begun letter
upside down, and showed how unseemly it would be to write any thing from
the bottom to the top, or from the right to the left, with other things
of like kind with which whole volumes might have been filled.

With such harmless fooleries we squandered our precious time; while it
could have occurred to none of us, that any thing would chance to
proceed out of our circle which would awaken a general sensation and
bring us into not the best repute.

Gellert may have taken little pleasure in his "Practicum;" and if,
perhaps, he took pleasure in giving some directions as to prose and
poetical style, he did it most privately only to a few, among whom we
could not number ourselves. Professor Clodius thought to fill the gap
which thus arose in the public instruction. He had gained some renown in
literature, criticism, and poetry, and, as a young, lively, obliging
man, found many friends, both in the university and in the city. Gellert
himself referred us to the lectures now commenced by him; and, as far as
the principal matter was concerned, we remarked little difference. He,
too, only criticised details, corrected likewise with red ink; and one
found one's self in company with mere blunders, without a prospect as to
where the right was to be sought. I had brought to him some of my little
labors, which he did not treat harshly. But just at this time they wrote
to me from home, that I must without fail furnish a poem for my uncle's
wedding. I felt far removed from that light and frivolous period in
which a similar thing would have given me pleasure; and, since I could
get nothing out of the actual circumstance itself, I determined to trick
out my work in the best manner with extraneous ornament. I therefore
convened all Olympus to consult about the marriage of a Frankfort
lawyer, and seriously enough, to be sure, as well became the festival of
such an honorable man. Venus and Themis had quarrelled for his sake; but
a roguish prank, which Amor played the latter, gained the suit for the
former: and the gods decided in favor of the marriage.

My work by no means displeased me. I received from home a handsome
letter in its praise, took the trouble to have another fair copy, and
hoped to extort some applause from my professor also. But here I had
missed my aim. He took the matter severely; and as he did not notice the
tone of parody, which nevertheless lay in the notion, he declared the
great expenditure of divine means for such an insignificant human end in
the highest degree reprehensible; inveighed against the use and abuse of
such mythological figures, as a false habit originating in pedantic
times; found the expression now too high, now too low; and, in divers
particulars, had indeed not spared the red ink, though he asserted that
he had yet done too little.

Such pieces were read out and criticised anonymously, it is true; but we
used to watch each other, and it remained no secret that this
unfortunate assembly of the gods was my work: yet since his critique,
when I took his point of view, seemed to be perfectly just, and those
divinities more nearly inspected were in fact only hollow shadow-forms,
I cursed all Olympus, flung the whole mythic Pantheon away; and from
that time Amor and Luna have been the only divinities which at all
appear in my little poems.

Among the persons whom Behrisch had chosen as the butts of his wit,
Clodius stood just at the head; nor was it hard to find a comical side
in him. Being of small stature, rather stout and thick-set, he was
violent in his motions, somewhat impetuous in his utterances, and
restless in his demeanor. In all this he differed from his fellow-
citizens, who, nevertheless, willingly put up with him on account of his
good qualities, and the fine promise which he gave.

He was usually commissioned with the poems which had become necessary on
festive occasions. In the so-called "Ode," he followed the manner
employed by Ramler, whom, however, it alone suited. But Clodius, as an
imitator, had especially marked the foreign words by means of which the
poems of Ramler come forth with a majestic pomp, which, because it is
conformable to the greatness of his subject and the rest of his poetic
treatment, produces a very good effect on the ear, feelings, and
imagination. In Clodius, on the contrary, these expressions had a
heterogeneous air; since his poetry was in other respects not calculated
to elevate the mind in any manner.

Now, we had often been obliged to see such poems printed and highly
lauded in our presence; and we found it highly offensive, that he who
had sequestered the heathen gods from us, now wished to hammer together
another ladder to Parnassus out of Greek and Roman word-rungs. These
oft-recurring expressions stamped themselves firmly on our memory; and
in a merry hour, when we were eating some most excellent cakes in the
kitchen-gardens (/Kohlgärten/), it all at once struck me to put
together these words of might and power, in a poem on the cake-baker
Hendel. No sooner thought than done! And let it stand here too, as it
was written on the wall of the house with a lead-pencil.

  "O Hendel, dessen Ruhm vom /Süd/ zum /Norden/ reicht,
   Vernimm den /Päan/ der zu deinen Ohren steigt.
   Du bäckst was /Gallien/ und /Britten/ emsig suchen,
   Mit /schöpfrischen Genie, originelle/ Kuchen.
   Des Kaffee's /Ocean/, der sich vor dir ergiesst,
   Ist süssev als der Saft der vom /Hymettus/ fliesst.
   Dein Haus ein /Monument/, wie wir den Künsten lohnen
   Umhangen mit /Trophän/, erzählt den /Nationen/:
   Auch ohne /Diadem/ fand Hendel hier sein Glück
   Und raubte dem /Cothurn/ gar manch Achtgroschenstück.
   Glänzt deine /Urn/ dereinst in majestäts'chen /Pompe/,
   Dann weint der /Patriot/ an deinem /Katacombe/.
   Doch leb! dein /Torus/ sey von edler Brut ein /Nest/,
   Steh' hoch wie der /Olymp/, wie der /Parnassus/ fest!
   Kein /Phalanx/ Griechenland mit römischen /Ballisten/
   Vermög /Germanien/ und Hendel zu verwüsten.
   Dein /Wohl/ is unser /Stolz/, dein /Leiden/, unser
        /Schmerz/,
/Und/ Hendel's /Tempel ist der Musensöhne Herz/."

[Footnote: The humor of the above consists, not in the thoughts, but in
the particular words employed. These have no remarkable effect in
English, as to us the words of Latin origin are often as familiar as
those which have Teutonic roots; and these form the chief peculiarity of
the style. We have therefore given the poem in the original language,
with the peculiar words (as indicated by Goethe) in Italics, and subjoin
a literal translation. It will be observed that we have said that the
peculiarity consists /chiefly/, not /solely/, in the use of
the foreign words; for there are two or three instances of
unquestionably German words, which are Italicized on account of their
high-sounding pomp.

"O Hendel, whose fame extends from /south/ to /north/, hear
the /paean/i> which ascends to thine ears! Thou bakest that which
/Gauls/ and /Britons/ industriously seek, (thou bakest) with
/creative genius original/ cakes. The /ocean/ of coffee which
 pours itself out before thee is sweeter than the juice which flows from
/Hymettus/. Thy house, a /monument/, how we reward the arts,
hung round with /trophies/, tells the nations: 'Even without a
/diadem/, Hendel formed his fortune here, and robbed the
/Cothurnus/ of many an eight-groschen-piece.' When thy /urn/
shines hereafter in majestic /pomp/, then will the
/patriot/ weep at thy /catacomb/. But live! let /thy/ bed
(/torus/) be the /nest/ of a noble brood, stand high as
/Olympus/, and firm as /Parnassus/. May no /phalanx/ of
Greece with Roman /ballistoe/ be able to destroy /Germania/
and Hendel. Thy /weal/ is our /pride/, thy /woe/ our
/pain/, and Hendel's /temple/ is the /heart/ of the
/sons of the Muses/."-TRANS.]

This poem had its place for a long time among many others which
disfigured the walls of that room, without being noticed; and we, who
had sufficiently amused ourselves with it, forgot it altogether amongst
other things. A long time afterwards, Clodius came out with his "Medon,"
whose wisdom, magnanimity, and virtue we found infinitely ridiculous,
much as the first representation of the piece was applauded. That
evening, when we met together in the wine-house, I made a prologue in
doggerel verse, in which Harlequin steps out with two great sacks,
places them on each side of the /proscenium/, and, after various
preliminary jokes, tells the spectators in confidence, that in the two
sacks moral aesthetic dust is to be found, which the actors will very
frequently throw into their eyes. One, to wit, was filled with good
deeds, that cost nothing; and the other with splendidly expressed
opinions, that had no meaning behind them. He reluctantly withdrew, and
sometimes came back, earnestly exhorted the spectators to attend to his
warning and shut their eyes, reminded them that he had always been their
friend, and meant well with them, with many more things of the kind.
This prologue was acted in the room, on the spot, by friend Horn: but
the jest remained quite among ourselves, not even a copy had been taken;
and the paper was soon lost. However, Horn, who had performed the
Harlequin very prettily, took it into his head to enlarge my poem to
Hendel by several verses, and then to make it refer to "Medon." He read
it to us; but we could not take any pleasure in it, for we did not find
the additions even ingenious: while the first poem, being written for
quite a different purpose, seemed to us disfigured. Our friend,
displeased with our indifference, or rather censure, may have shown it
to others, who found it new and amusing. Copies were now made of it, to
which the reputation of Clodius's "Medon" gave at once a rapid
publicity. Universal disapproval was the consequence, and the
originators (it was soon found out that the poem had proceeded from our
clique) were severely censured; for nothing of the sort had been seen
since Cronegk's and Rost's attacks upon Gottsched. We had besides
already secluded ourselves, and now found ourselves quite in the case of
the owl with respect to the other birds. In Dresden, too, they did not
like the affair; and it had for us serious, if not unpleasant,
consequences. For some time, already, Count Lindenau had not been quite
satisfied with his son's tutor. For although the young man was by no
means neglected, and Behrisch kept himself either in the chamber of the
young count, or at least close to it, when the instructors gave their
daily lessons, regularly frequented the lectures with him, never went
out in the daytime without him, and accompanied him in all his walks,
yet the rest of us were always to be found in Apel's house, and joined
them whenever they went on a pleasure ramble: this already excited some
attention. Behrisch, too, accustomed himself to our society, and at
last, towards nine o'clock in the evenings, generally transferred his
pupil into the hands of the /valet de chambre/, and went in quest
of us to the wine-house, whither, however, he never used to come but in
shoes and stockings, with his sword by his side, and commonly his hat
under his arm. The jokes and fooleries, which he generally started, went
on /ad infinitum/. Thus, for instance, one of our friends had a
habit of going away precisely at ten, because he had a connection with a
pretty girl, with whom he could converse only at that hour. We did not
like to lose him; and one evening, when we sat very happily together,
Behrisch secretly determined that he would not let him off this time. At
the stroke of ten, the other arose and took leave. Behrisch called after
him, and begged him to wait a moment, as he was just going with him. He
now began, in the most amusing manner, first to look after his sword,
which stood just before his eyes, and in buckling it on behaved
awkwardly, so that he could never accomplish it. He did this, too, so
naturally, that no one took offence at it. But when, to vary the theme,
he at last went farther, so that the sword came now on the right side,
now between his legs, an universal laughter arose, in which the man in a
hurry, who was like-wise a merry fellow, chimed in, and let Behrisch
have his own way till the happy hour was past, when, for the first time,
there followed general pleasure and agreeable conversation till deep
into the night.

Unfortunately Behrisch, and we through him, had a certain other
propensity for some girls who were better than their reputation,--by
which our own reputation could not be improved. We had often been seen
in their garden; and we directed our walks thither, even when the young
count was with us. All this may have been treasured up, and at last
communicated to his father: enough, he sought, in a gentlemanly manner,
to get rid of the tutor, to whom the event proved fortunate. His good
exterior, his knowledge and talents, his integrity, which no one could
call in question, had won him the affection and esteem of distinguished
persons, on whose recommendation he was appointed tutor to the
hereditary prince of Dessau, and at the court of a prince, excellent in
every respect, found a solid happiness.

The loss of a friend like Behrisch was of the greatest consequence to
me. He had spoiled while he cultivated me; and his presence was
necessary, if the pains he had thought good to spend upon me were in any
degree to bring forth fruit for society. He knew how to engage me in all
kinds of pretty and agreeable things, in whatever was just appropriate,
and to bring out my social talents. But as I had gained no self-
dependence in such things, so when I was alone again I immediately
relapsed into my confused and crabbed disposition, which always
increased, the more discontented I was with those about me, since I
fancied that they were not contented with me. With the most arbitrary
caprice, I took offence at what I might have considered an advantage;
thus alienated many with whom I had hitherto been on a tolerable
footing; and on account of the many disagreeable consequences which I
had drawn on myself and others, whether by doing or leaving undone, by
doing too much or too little, was obliged to hear the remark from my
well-wishers, that I lacked experience. The same thing was told me by
every person of sound sense who saw my productions, especially when
these referred to the external world. I observed this as well as I
could, but found in it little that was edifying, and was still forced to
add enough of my own to make it only tolerable. I had often pressed my
friend Behrisch, too, that he would make plain to me what was meant by
experience? But, because he was full of nonsense, he put me off with
fair words from one day to another, and at last, after great
preparations, disclosed to me, that true experience was properly when
one experiences how an experienced man must experience in experiencing
his experience. Now, when we scolded him outrageously, and called him to
account for this, he assured us that a great mystery lay hidden behind
these words, which we could not comprehend until we had experienced
...and so on without end,--for it cost him nothing to talk on in that
way by the quarter of an hour,--since the experience would always become
more experienced and at last come to true experience. When we were about
to despair at such fooleries, he protested that he had learned this way
of making himself intelligible and impressive from the latest and
greatest authors, who had made us observe how one can rest a restful
rest, and how silence, in being silent, can constantly become more
silent.

By chance an officer, who came among us on furlough, was praised in good
company as a remarkable, sound-minded, and experienced man, who had
fought through the Seven Years' War, and had gained universal
confidence. It was not difficult for me to approach him, and we often
went walking with each other. The idea of experience had almost become
fixed in my brain, and the craving to make it clear to me passionate.
Being of a frank disposition, I disclosed to him the uneasiness in which
I found myself. He smiled, and was kind enough to tell me, as an answer
to my question, something of his own life, and generally of the world
immediately about us; from which, indeed, little better was to be
gathered than that experience convinces us that our best thoughts,
wishes, and designs are unattainable, and that he who fosters such
vagaries, and advances them with eagerness, is especially held to be an
inexperienced man.

Yet, as he was a gallant, good fellow, he assured me that he had himself
not quite given up these vagaries, and felt himself tolerably well off
with the little faith, love, and hope which remained. He then felt
obliged to tell me a great deal about war, about the sort of life in the
field, about skirmishes and battles, especially so far as he had taken
part in them; when these vast events, by being considered in relation to
a single individual, gained a very marvellous aspect. I then led him on
to an open narration of the late situation of the court, which seemed to
me quite like a tale. I heard of the bodily strength of Augustus the
Second, of his many children and his vast expenses, then of his
successor's love of art and of making collections; of Count Brühl and
his boundless love of magnificence, which in detail appeared almost
absurd, of his numerous banquets and gorgeous amusements, which were all
cut off by Frederick's invasion of Saxony. The royal castles now lay in
ruins, Brühl's splendors were annihilated, and, of the whole, a glorious
land, much injured, alone remained.

When he saw me astonished at that mad enjoyment of fortune, and then
grieved by the calamity that followed, and informed me that one expects
from an experienced man exactly this, that he shall be astonished at
neither the one nor the other, nor take too lively an interest in them,
I felt a great desire still to remain a while in the same inexperience
as hitherto; in which desire he strengthened me, and very urgently
entreated me, for the present at least, always to cling to agreeable
experiences, and to try to avoid those that were disagreeable as much as
possible, if they should intrude themselves upon me. But once, when the
discussion was again about experience in general, and I related to him
those ludicrous phrases of my friend Behrisch, he shook his head,
smiling, and said, "There, one sees how it is with words which are only
once uttered! These sound so comical, nay, so silly, that it would seem
almost impossible to put a rational meaning into them; and yet, perhaps,
the attempt might be made."

And, when I pressed him, he replied in his intelligent, cheerful manner,
"If you will allow me, while commenting on and completing your friend's
observations, to go on after his fashion, I think he meant to say, that
experience is nothing else than that one experiences what one does not
wish to experience; which is what it amounts to for the most part, at
least in this world."



EIGHTH BOOK.

Another man, although infinitely different from Behrisch in every
respect, might yet be compared with him in a certain sense: I mean
Oeser, who was also one of those men who dream away their lives in a
comfortable state of being busy. His friends themselves secretly
acknowledged, that, with very fine natural powers, he had not spent his
younger years in sufficient activity; for which reason he never went so
far as to practise his art with perfect technicality. Yet a certain
diligence appeared to be reserved for his old age; and, during the many
years which I knew him, he never lacked invention or laboriousness. From
the very first moment he had attracted me very much: even his residence,
strange and portentous, was highly charming to me. In the old castle
Pleissenburg, at the right-hand corner, one ascended a repaired,
cheerful, winding staircase. The saloons of the Academy of Design, of
which he was director, were found to the left, and were light and roomy;
but he himself could only be reached through a narrow, dark passage, at
the end of which one first sought the entrance into his apartments,
having just passed between the whole suite of them and an extensive
granary. The first apartment was adorned with pictures from the later
Italian school, by masters whose grace he used highly to commend. As I,
with some noblemen, had taken private lessons of him, we were permitted
to draw here; and we often penetrated into his adjoining private
cabinet, which contained at the same time his few books, collections of
art and natural curiosities, and whatever else might have most
interested him. Every thing was arranged with taste, simply, and in such
a manner that the little space held a great deal. The furniture,
presses, and portfolios were elegant, without affection or superfluity.
Thus also the first thing which he recommended to us, and to which he
always recurred, was simplicity in every thing that art and manual labor
united are called upon to produce. Being a sworn foe to the scroll-and-
shell style, and of the whole taste for quaintness, he showed us in
copper-plates and drawings old patterns of the sort contrasted with
better decorations and simpler forms of furniture, as well as with other
appurtenances of a room; and, because every thing about him corresponded
with these maxims, his words and instructions made a good and lasting
impression on us. Besides this, he had an opportunity to let us see his
opinions in practice; since he stood in good consideration, both with
private and with official persons, and was asked for advice when there
were new buildings and alterations. He seemed in general to be more fond
of preparing things on occasion, for a certain end and use, than of
undertaking and completing such as exist for themselves and require a
greater perfection; he was therefore always ready and at hand when the
publishers needed larger and smaller copper-plates for any work: thus
the vignettes to Winckelmann's first writings were etched by him. But he
often made only very sketchy drawings, to which Geyser knew very well
how to adapt himself. His figures had throughout something general, not
to say ideal. His women were pleasing and agreeable, his children
/naive/ enough; only he could not succeed with the men, who, in his
spirited but always cloudy, and at the same time foreshortening, manner,
had for the most part the look of Lazzaroni. Since he designed his
composition less with regard to form than to light, shade, and masses,
the general effect was good; as indeed all that he did and produced was
attended by a peculiar grace. As he at the same time neither could nor
would control a deep-rooted propensity to the significant and the
allegorical--to that which excites a secondary thought, so his works
always furnished something to reflect upon, and were complete through a
conception, even where they could not be so from art and execution. This
bias, which is always dangerous, frequently led him to the very bounds
of good taste, if not beyond them. He often sought to attain his views
by the oddest notions and by whimsical jests; nay, his best works always
have a touch of humor. If the public were not always satisfied with such
things, he revenged himself by a new and even stranger drollery. Thus he
afterwards exhibited, in the ante-room of the great concert-hall, an
ideal female figure, in his own style, who was raising a pair of
snuffers to a taper; and he was extraordinarily delighted when he was
able to cause a dispute on the question, whether this singular muse
meant to snuff the light or to extinguish it? when he roguishly allowed
all sorts of bantering by-thoughts to peep forth.

But the building of the new theatre, in my time, made the greatest
noise; in which his curtain, when it was still quite new, had certainly
an uncommonly charming effect. Oeser had taken the Muses out of the
clouds, upon which they usually hover on such occasions, and set them
upon the earth. The statues of Sophocles and Aristophanes, around whom
all the modern dramatic writers were assembled, adorned a vestibule to
the Temple of Fame. Here, too, the goddesses of the arts were likewise
present; and all was dignified and beautiful. But now comes the oddity!
Through the open centre was seen the portal of the distant temple: and a
man in a light jerkin was passing between the two above-mentioned
groups, and, without troubling himself about them, directly up to the
temple; he was seen from behind, and was not particularly distinguished.
Now, this man was to represent Shakespeare, who without predecessors or
followers, without concerning himself about models, went to meet
immortality in his own way. This work was executed on the great floor
over the new theatre. "We often assembled round him there, and in that
place I read aloud to him the proof-sheets of "Musarion." As to myself,
I by no means advanced in the practice of the art. His instructions
worked upon our mind and our taste; but his own drawing was too
undefined to guide me, who had only glimmered along by the objects of
art and of nature, to a severe and decided practice. Of the faces and
bodies he gave us rather the aspect than the forms, rather the postures
than the proportions. He gave us the conceptions of the figures, and
desired that we should impress them vividly upon our minds. That might
have been beautifully and properly done, if he had not had mere
beginners before him. If, on this account, a pre-eminent talent for
instruction may be well denied him, it must, on the other hand, be
acknowledged that he was very discreet and politic, and that a happy
adroitness of mind qualified him very peculiarly for a teacher in a
higher sense. The deficiencies under which each one labored he clearly
saw; but he disdained to reprove them directly, and rather hinted his
praise and censure indirectly and very laconically. One was now
compelled to think over the matter, and soon came to a far deeper
insight. Tims, for instance, I had very carefully executed, after a
pattern, a nosegay on blue paper, with white and black crayon, and
partly with the stump, partly by hatching it up, had tried to give
effect to the little picture. After I had been long laboring in this
way, he once came behind me, and said, "More paper!" upon which he
immediately withdrew. My neighbor and I puzzled our heads as to what
this could mean; for my bouquet, on a large half-sheet, had plenty of
space around it. After we had reflected a long while, we thought, at
last, that we had hit his meaning, when we remarked, that, by working
together the black and the white, I had quite covered up the blue
ground, had destroyed the middle tint, and, in fact, with great
industry, had produced a disagreeable drawing. As to the rest, he did
not fail to instruct us in perspective, and in light and shade,
sufficiently indeed, but always so that we had to exert and torment
ourselves to find the application of the principles communicated.
Probably his view with regard to us who did not intend to become
artists, was only to form the judgment and taste, and to make us
acquainted with the requisites of a work of art, without precisely
requiring that we should produce one. Since, moreover, patient industry
was not my talent, for nothing gave me pleasure except what came to me
at once, so by degrees I became discouraged, if not lazy; and, as
knowledge is more comfortable than doing, I was quite content to follow
wherever he chose, after his own fashion, to lead us.

At this time the "Lives of the Painters," by D'Argenville, was
translated into German: I obtained it quite fresh, and studied it
assiduously enough. This seemed to please Oeser; and he procured us an
opportunity of seeing many a portfolio out of the great Leipzig
collections, and thus introduced us to the history of the art. But even
these exercises produced in me an effect different from that which he
probably had in mind. The manifold subjects which I saw treated by
artists awakened the poetic talent in me: and, as one easily makes an
engraving for a poem; so did I now make poems to the engravings and
drawings, by contriving to present to myself the personages introduced
in them, in their previous and subsequent condition, and sometimes to
compose a little song which might have suited them; and thus accustomed
myself to consider the arts in connection with each other. Even the
mistakes which I made, so that my poems were often descriptive, were
useful to me in the sequel, when I came to more reflection, by making me
attentive to the differences between the arts. Of such little things
many were in the collection which Behrisch had arranged, but there is
nothing left of them now.

The atmosphere of art and taste in which Oeser lived, and into which one
was drawn, provided one visited him frequently, was the more and more
worthy and delightful, because he was fond of remembering departed or
absent persons, with whom he had been, or still continued to be, on good
terms; for, if he had once given any one his esteem, he remained
unalterable in his conduct towards him, and always showed himself
equally friendly.

After we had heard Caylus pre-eminently extolled among the French, he
made us also acquainted with Germans of activity in this department.
Thus we learned that Professor Christ, as an amateur, a collector, a
connoisseur, a fellow-laborer, had done good service for art, and had
applied his learning to its true improvement. Heinecken, on the
contrary, could not be honorably mentioned, partly because he devoted
himself too assiduously to the ever-childish beginnings of German art;
which Oeser little valued, partly because he had once treated
Winckelmann shabbily, which could never be forgiven him. Our attention,
however, was strongly drawn to the labors of Lippert, since our
instructor knew how to set forth his merits sufficiently. "For," he
said, "although single statues and larger groups of sculpture remain the
foundation and the summit of all knowledge of art, yet, either as
originals or as casts, they are seldom to be seen; on the contrary, by
Lippert, a little world of gems is made known, in which the more
comprehensible merit of the ancients, their happy invention, judicious
composition, tasteful treatment, are made more striking and
intelligible, while, from the great number of them, comparison is much
more possible." While now we were busying ourselves with these as much
as was allowed, Winckelmann's lofty life of art in Italy was pointed
out, and we took his first writings in hand with devotion; for Oeser had
a passionate reverence for him, which he was able easily to instil into
us. The problematical part of those little treatises, which are,
besides, confused even from their irony, and from their referring to
opinions and events altogether peculiar, we were, indeed, unable to
decipher; but as Oeser had great influence over us, and incessantly gave
them out to us as the gospel of the beautiful, and still more of the
tasteful and the pleasing, we found out the general sense, and fancied,
that, with such interpretations, we should go on the more securely, as
we regarded it no small happiness to draw from the same fountain from
which Winckelmann had allayed his earliest thirst.

No greater good fortune can befall a city, than when several educated
men, like-minded in what is good and right, live together in it. Leipzig
had this advantage, and enjoyed it the more peacefully, as so many
differences of judgment had not yet manifested themselves. Huber, a
print collector and well-experienced connoisseur, had furthermore the
gratefully acknowledged merit of having determined to make the worth of
German literature known to the French; Kreuchauf, an amateur with a
practised eye, who, as the friend of the whole society of art, might
regard all collections as his own; Winkler, who much loved to share with
others the intelligent delight he cherished for his treasures; many more
who were added to the list,--all lived and labored with one feeling;
and, often as I was permitted to be present when they examined works of
art, I do not remember that a dispute ever arose. The school from which
the artist had proceeded, the time in which he lived, the peculiar
talent which nature had bestowed on him, and the degree of excellence to
which he had brought it in his performances, were always fairly
considered. There was no predilection for spiritual or temporal
subjects, for landscape or for city views, for animate or inanimate: the
question was always about the accordance with art.

Now, although from their situation, mode of thought, abilities, and
opportunities, these amateurs and collectors inclined more to the Dutch
school, yet, while the eye was practised on the endless merits of the
north-western artist, a look of reverential longing was always turned
towards the south-east.

And so the university, where I neglected the ends of both my family and
myself, was to ground me in that in which I afterwards found the
greatest satisfaction of my life: the impression of those localities,
too, in which I received such important incitements, has always remained
to me most dear and precious. The old Pleissenburg; the rooms of the
Academy; but, above all, the abode of Oeser; and no less the collections
of Winkler and Richter,--I have always vividly present before me.

But a young man, who, while older persons are conversing with each other
on subjects already familiar to them, is instructed only incidentally,
and for whom the most difficult part of the business--that of rightly
arranging all--yet remains, must find himself in a very painful
situation. I therefore, as well as others, looked about with longing for
some new light, which was indeed to come to us from a man to whom we
owed so much already.

The mind can be highly delighted in two ways,--by perception and
conception. But the former demands a worthy object, which is not always
at hand, and a proportionate culture, which one does not immediately
attain. Conception, on the other hand, requires only susceptibility: it
brings its subject-matter with it, and is itself the instrument of
culture. Hence that beam of light was most welcome to us which that most
excellent thinker brought down to us through dark clouds. One must be a
young man to render present to one's self the effect which Lessing's
"Laocoön" produced upon us, by transporting us out of the region of
scanty perceptions into the open fields of thought. The /ut pictura
poesis/, so long misunderstood, was at once laid aside: the
difference between plastic and speaking art [Footnote: Bildende und
Redende Kunst." The expression "speaking art" is used to produce a
corresponding antithesis, though "/belles-lettres/ would be the
ordinary rendering.--TRANS.] was made clear; the summits of the two now
appeared sundered, however near their bases might border on each other.
The plastic artist was to keep himself within the bounds of the
beautiful, if the artist of language, who cannot dispense with the
significant in any kind, is permitted to ramble abroad beyond them. The
former labors for the outer sense, which is satisfied only by the
beautiful; the latter for the imagination, which may even reconcile
itself to the ugly. All the consequences of this splendid thought were
illumined to us as by a lightning-flash: all the criticism which had
hitherto guided and judged was thrown away like a worn-out coat. We
considered ourselves freed from all evil, and fancied we might venture
to look down with some compassion upon the otherwise so splendid
sixteenth century, when, in German sculptures and poems, they knew how
to represent life only under the form of a fool hung with bells, death
under the misformed shape of a rattling skeleton, and the necessary and
accidental evils of the world under the image of the caricatured Devil.

What enchanted us most was the beauty of that thought, that the ancients
had recognized death as the brother of sleep, and had represented them
similar, even to confusion, as becomes Menaechmi. Here we could first do
high honor to the triumph of the beautiful, and banish the ugly of every
kind into the low sphere of the ridiculous within the realm of art,
since it could not be utterly driven out of the world.

The splendor of such leading and fundamental conceptions appears only to
the mind upon which they exercise their infinite activity,--appears only
to the age in which, after being longed for, they come forth at the
right moment. Then do those at whose disposal such nourishment is placed
fondly occupy whole periods of their lives with it, and rejoice in a
superabundant growth; while men are not wanting, meanwhile, who resist
such an effect on the spot, nor others who afterwards haggle and cavil
at its high meaning.

But, as conception and perception mutually require each other, I could
not long work up these new thoughts without an infinite desire arising
within me to see important works of art, once and away, in great number.
I therefore determined to visit Dresden without delay. I was not in want
of the necessary cash: but there were other difficulties to overcome,
which I needlessly increased still further, through my whimsical
disposition; for I kept my purpose a secret from every one, because I
wished to contemplate the treasures of art there quite after my own way,
and, as I thought, to allow no one to perplex me. Besides this, so
simple a matter became more complicated by still another eccentricity.

We have weaknesses, both by birth and by education; and it may be
questioned which of the two gives us the most trouble. Willingly as I
made myself familiar with all sorts of conditions, and many as had been
my inducements to do so, an excessive aversion from all inns had
nevertheless been instilled into me by my father. This feeling had taken
firm root in him on his travels through Italy, France, and Germany.
Although he seldom spoke in images, and only called them to his aid when
he was very cheerful, yet he used often to repeat that he always fancied
he saw a great cobweb spun across the gate of an inn, so ingeniously
that the insects could indeed fly in, but that even the privileged wasps
could not fly out again unplucked. It seemed to him something horrible
that one should be obliged to pay immoderately for renouncing one's
habits and all that was dear to one in life, and living after the manner
of publicans and waiters. He praised the hospitality of the olden time;
and, reluctantly as he otherwise endured even any thing unusual in the
house, he yet practised hospitality, especially towards artists and
virtuosi. Thus gossip Seekatz always had his quarters with us; and Abel,
the last musician who handled the /viol di gamba/ with success and
applause, was well received and entertained. With such youthful
impressions, which nothing had as yet rubbed off, how could I have
resolved to set foot in an inn in a strange city? Nothing would have
been easier than to find quarters with good friends. Hofrath Krebel,
Assessor Hermann, and others, had often spoken to me about it already;
but even to these my trip was to remain a secret, and I hit upon a most
singular notion. My next-room neighbor, the industrious theologian,
whose eyes unfortunately constantly grew weaker and weaker, had a
relation in Dresden, a shoemaker, with whom from time to time he
corresponded. For a long while already this man had been highly
remarkable to me on account of his expressions, and the arrival of one
of his letters was always celebrated by us as a holiday. The mode in
which he replied to the complaints of his cousin, who feared blindness,
was quite peculiar: for he did not trouble himself about grounds of
consolation, which are always hard to find; but the cheerful way in
which he looked upon his own narrow, poor, toilsome life, the merriment
which he drew, even from evils and inconveniences, the indestructible
conviction that life is in itself and on its own account a blessing,
communicated itself to him who read the letter, and, for the moment at
least, transposed him into a like mood. Enthusiastic as I was, I had
often sent my compliments to this man, extolled his happy natural gift,
and expressed the wish to become acquainted with him. All this being
premised, nothing seemed to me more natural than to seek him out, to
converse with him,--nay, to lodge with him, and to learn to know him
intimately. My good candidate, after some opposition, gave me a letter,
written with difficulty, to carry with me; and, full of longing, I went
to Dresden in the yellow coach, with my matriculation in my pocket.

I went in search of my shoemaker, and soon found him in the suburb
(/Vorstadt/). He received me in a friendly manner, sitting upon his
stool, and said, smiling, after he had read the letter, "I see from
this, young sir, that you are a whimsical Christian."--"How so, master?"
I replied. "No offence meant by '/whimsical/,'" he continued: "one
calls every one so who is not consistent with himself; and I call you a
whimsical Christian because you acknowledge yourself a follower of our
Lord in one thing, but not in another." On my requesting him to
enlighten me, he said further, "It seems that your view is, to announce
glad tidings to the poor and lowly; that is good, and this imitation of
the Lord is praiseworthy: but you should reflect, besides, that he
rather sat down to table with prosperous rich folks, where there was
good fare, and that he himself did not despise the sweet scent of the
ointment, of which you will find the opposite in my house."

This pleasant beginning put me at once in good humor, and we rallied
each other for some time. His wife stood doubting how she should board
and lodge such a guest. On this point, too, he had notions which
referred, not only to the Bible, but also to "Gottfried's Chronicle;"
and when we were agreed that I was to stay, I gave my purse, such as it
was, into the charge of my hostess, and requested her to furnish herself
from it, if any thing should be necessary. When he would have declined
it, and somewhat waggishly gave me to understand that he was not so
burned out as he might appear, I disarmed him by saying, "Even if it
were only to change water into wine, such a well-tried domestic resource
would not be out of place, since there are no more miracles nowadays."
The hostess seemed to find my conduct less and less strange: we had soon
accommodated ourselves to each other, and spent a very merry evening. He
remained always the same, because all flowed from one source. His
peculiarity was an apt common sense, which rested upon a cheerful
disposition, and took delight in uniform habitual activity. That he
should labor incessantly was his first and most necessary care; that he
regarded every thing else as secondary,--this kept up his comfortable
state of mind; and I must reckon him before many others in the class of
those who are called practical unconscious philosophers. [Footnote:
"Pratische Philosophen, bewusstlose Weltweisen." It is impossible to
give two substantives, as in the original, since this is effected by
using first the word of Greek, then the word of German origin, whereas
we have but one.--TRANS.]

The hour when the gallery was to be opened appeared, after having been
expected with impatience. I entered into this sanctuary, and my
astonishment surpassed every conception which I had formed. This room,
returning into itself, in which splendor and neatness reigned together
with the deepest stillness; the dazzling frames, all nearer to the time
in which they had been gilded; the floor polished with bees'-wax; the
spaces more trodden by spectators than used by copyists,--imparted a
feeling of solemnity, unique of its kind, which so much the more
resembled the sensation with which one treads a church, as the
adornments of so many a temple, the objects of so much adoration, seemed
here again set up only for the sacred purposes of art. I readily put up
with the cursory description of my guide, only I requested that I might
be allowed to remain in the outer gallery. Here, to my comfort, I felt
really at home. I had already seen the works of several artists, others
I knew from engravings, others by name. I did not conceal this, and I
thus inspired my conductor with some confidence: nay, the rapture which
I expressed at pieces where the pencil had gained the victory over
nature delighted him; for such were the things which principally
attracted me, where the comparison with known nature must necessarily
enhance the value of art.

When I again entered my shoemaker's house for dinner, I scarcely
believed my eyes; for I fancied I saw before me a picture by Ostade, so
perfect that all it needed was to be hung up in the gallery. The
position of the objects, the light, the shadow, the brownish tint of the
whole, the magical harmony,--every thing that one admires in those
pictures, I here saw in reality. It was the first time that I perceived,
in so high a degree, the faculty which I afterwards exercised with more
consciousness; namely, that of seeing nature with the eyes of this or
that artist, to whose works I had devoted a particular attention. This
faculty has afforded me much enjoyment, but has also increased the
desire zealously to abandon myself, from time to time, to the exercise
of a talent which nature seemed to have denied me.

I visited the gallery at all permitted hours, and continued to express
too loudly the ecstasy with which I beheld many precious works. I thus
frustrated my laudable purpose of remaining unknown and unnoticed; and
whereas only one of the unclerkeepers had hitherto had intercourse with
me, the gallery-inspector, Counsellor Riedel, now also took notice of
me, and called my attention to many things which seemed chiefly to lie
within my sphere. I found this excellent man just as active and obliging
then, as when I afterwards saw him during many years, and as he shows
himself to this day. His image has, for me, interwoven itself so closely
with those treasures of art, that I can never regard the two apart: the
remembrance of him has even accompanied me to Italy, where, in many
large and rich collections, his presence would have been very desirable.

Since, even with strangers and unknown persons, one cannot gaze on such
works silently and without mutual sympathy,--nay, since the first sight
of them is rather adapted, in the highest degree, to open hearts towards
each other, I there got into conversation with a young man who seemed to
be residing at Dresden, and to belong to some embassy. He invited me to
come in the evening to an inn where a lively company met, and where, by
each one's paying a moderate reckoning, one could pass some very
pleasant hours.

I repaired thither, but did not find the company; and the waiter
somewhat surprised me when he delivered the compliments of the gentleman
who made the appointment with me, by which the latter sent an excuse for
coming somewhat later, with the addition that I must not take offence at
any thing that might occur; also, that I should have nothing to pay
beyond my own score. I knew not what to make of these words: my father's
cobwebs came into my head, and I composed myself to await whatever might
befall. The company assembled; my acquaintance introduced me; and I
could not be attentive long, without discovering that they were aiming
at the mystification of a young man, who showed himself a novice by an
obstreperous, assuming deportment: I therefore kept very much on my
guard, so that they might not find delight in selecting me as his
fellow. At table this intention became more apparent to everybody,
except to himself. They drank more and more deeply: and, when a vivat in
honor of sweethearts was started, every one solemnly swore that there
should never be another out of those glasses; they flung them behind
them, and this was the signal for far greater follies. At last I
withdrew very quietly; and the waiter, while demanding quite a moderate
amount, requested me to come again, as they did not go on so wildly
every evening. I was far from my lodgings, and it was near midnight when
I reached them. I found the doors unlocked; everybody was in bed; and
one lamp illuminated the narrow domestic household, where my eye, more
and more practised, immediately perceived the finest picture by
Schalken, from which I could not tear myself away, so that it banished
from me all sleep.

The few days of my residence in Dresden were solely devoted to the
picture-gallery. The antiquities still stood in the pavilion of the
great garden; but I declined seeing them, as well as all the other
precious things which Dresden contained, being but too full of the
conviction, that, even in and about the collection of paintings, much
must yet remain hidden from me. Thus I took the excellence of the
Italian masters more on trust and in faith, than by pretending to any
insight into them. What I could not look upon as nature, put in the
place of nature, and compare with a known object, was without effect
upon me. It is the material impression which makes the beginning even to
every more elevated taste.

With my shoemaker I lived on very good terms. He was witty and varied
enough, and we often outvied each other in merry conceits: nevertheless,
a man who thinks himself happy, and desires others to do the same, makes
us discontented; indeed, the repetition of such sentiments produces
weariness. I found myself well occupied, entertained, excited, but by no
means happy; and the shoes from his last would not fit me. We parted,
however, as the best friends; and even my hostess, on my departure, was
not dissatisfied with me.

Shortly before my departure, something else very pleasant was to happen.
By the mediation of that young man, who wished to somewhat regain his
credit with me, I was introduced to the Director Von Hagedorn, who, with
great kindness, showed me his collection, and was highly delighted with
the enthusiasm of the young lover of art. He himself, as becomes a
connoisseur, was quite peculiarly in love with the pictures which he
possessed, and therefore seldom found in others an interest such as he
wished. It gave him particular satisfaction that I was so excessively
pleased with a picture by Schwanefeld, and that I was not tired of
praising and extolling it in every single part; for landscapes, which
again reminded me of the beautiful clear sky under which I had grown up,
of the vegetable luxuriance of those spots, and of whatever other favors
a warmer climate offers to man, were just the things that most affected
me in the imitation, while they awakened in me a longing remembrance.

These delightful experiences, preparing both mind and sense for true
art, were nevertheless interrupted and damped by one of the most
melancholy sights,--by the destroyed and desolate condition of so many
of the streets of Dresden through which I took my way. The Mohrenstrasse
in ruins, and the Church (/Kreuzkirche/) of the Cross, with its
shattered tower, impressed themselves deeply upon me, and still stand
like a gloomy spot in my imagination. From the cupola of the Lady Church
(/Frauenkirche/) I saw these pitiable ruins scattered about amid
the beautiful order of the city. Here the clerk commended to me the art
of the architect, who had already fitted up church and cupola for so
undesirable an event, and had built them bomb-proof. The good sacristan
then pointed out to me the ruins on all sides, and said doubtfully and
laconically, "/The enemy hath done this/!"

At last, though very loath, I returned to Leipzig, and found my friends,
who were not used to such digressions in me, in great astonishment,
busied with all sorts of conjectures as to what might be the import of
my mysterious journey. When, upon this, I told them my story quite in
order, they declared it was only a made-up tale, and sagaciously tried
to get at the bottom of the riddle which I had been waggish enough to
conceal under my shoemaker-lodgings.

But, could they have looked into my heart, they would have discovered no
waggery there; for the truth of that old proverb, "He that increaseth
knowledge increaseth sorrow," had struck me with all its force: and the
more I struggled to arrange and appropriate to myself what I had seen,
the less I succeeded. I had at last to content myself with a silent
after-operation. Ordinary life carried me away again; and I at last felt
myself quite comfortable when a friendly intercourse, improvement in
branches of knowledge which were suitable for me, and a certain practice
of the hand, engaged me in a manner less important, but more in
accordance with my strength.

Very pleasant and wholesome for me was the connection I formed with the
Breitkopf family. Bernhard Christoph Breitkopf, the proper founder of
the family, who had come to Leipzig as a poor journeyman printer, was
yet living, and occupied the Golden Bear, a respectable house in the new
Newmarket, with Gottsched as an inmate. The son, Johann Gottlob
Immanuel, had already been long married, and was the father of many
children. They thought they could not spend a part of their considerable
wealth better than in putting up, opposite the first house, a large new
one, the Silver Bear, which they built higher and more extensive than
the original house itself. Just at the time of the building I became
acquainted with the family. The eldest son, who might have been some
years older than I, was a well-formed young man, devoted to music, and
practised to play skilfully on both the piano and the violin. The
second, a true, good soul, likewise musical, enlivened the concerts
which were often got up, no less than his elder brother. They were both
kindly disposed towards me, as well as their parents and sisters. I lent
them a helping hand during the building up and the finishing, the
furnishing and the moving in, and thus formed a conception of much that
belongs to such an affair: I also had an opportunity of seeing Oeser's
instructions put in practice. In the new house, which I had thus seen
erected, I was often a visitor. We had many pursuits in common; and the
eldest son set some of my songs to music, which, when printed, bore his
name, but not mine, and have been little known. I have selected the
best, and inserted them among my other little poems. The father had
invented or perfected musical type. He granted me the use of a fine
library, which related principally to the origin and progress of
printing; and thus I gained some knowledge in that department. I found
there, moreover, good copper-plates, which exhibited antiquity, and
advanced on this side also my studies, which were still further promoted
by the circumstance that a considerable collection of casts had fallen
into disorder in moving. I set them right again as well as I could, and
in doing so was compelled to search Lippert and other authorities. A
physician, Doctor Reichel, likewise an inmate of the house, I consulted
from time to time when I felt, if not sick, yet unwell; and thus we led
together a quiet, pleasant life.

I was now to enter into another sort of connection in this house; for
the copper-plate engraver, Stock, had moved into the attic. He was a
native of Nuremberg, a very industrious man, and, in his labors, precise
and methodical. He also, like Geyser, engraved, after Oeser's designs,
larger and smaller plates, which came more and more into vogue for
novels and poems. He etched very neatly, so that his work came out of
the aquafortis almost finished; and but little touching-up remained to
be done with the graver, which he handled very well. He made an exact
calculation how long a plate would occupy him, and nothing could call
him off from his work if he had not completed the daily task he had set
himself. Thus he sat working by a broad table, by the great gable-
window, in a very neat and orderly chamber, where his wife and two
daughters afforded him a domestic society. Of these last, one is happily
married, and the other is an excellent artist: they have continued my
friends all my life long. I now divided my time between the upper and
lower stories, and attached myself much to the man, who, together with
his persevering industry, possessed an excellent humor, and was good
nature itself.

The technical neatness of this branch of art charmed me, and I
associated myself with him to execute something of the kind. My
predilection was again directed towards landscape, which, while it
amused me in my solitary walks, seemed in itself more attainable and
more comprehensible for works of art than the human figure, which
discouraged me. Under his directions, therefore, I etched, after Thiele
and others, various landscapes, which, although executed by an
unpractised hand, produced some effect, and were well received. The
grounding (varnishing) of the plates, the putting in the high lights,
the etching, and at last the biting with aquafortis, gave me variety of
occupation; and I soon got so far that I could assist my master in many
things. I did not lack the attention necessary for the biting, and I
seldom failed in any thing; but I had not care enough in guarding
against the deleterious vapors which are generated on such occasions,
and these may have contributed to the maladies which afterwards troubled
me for a long time. Amidst such labors, lest any thing should be left
untried, I often made wood-cuts also. I prepared various little
printing-blocks after French patterns, and many of them were found fit
for use.

Let me here make mention of some other men who resided in Leipzig, or
tarried there for a short time. Weisse, the custom-house collector of
the district, in his best years, cheerful, friendly, and obliging, was
loved and esteemed by us. We would not, indeed, allow his theatrical
pieces to be models throughout, but we suffered ourselves to be carried
away by them; and his operas, set to music by Hiller in an easy style,
gave us much pleasure. Schiebler, of Hamburgh, pursued the same track;
and his "Lisuard and Dariolette" was likewise favored by us. Eschenburg,
a handsome young man, but little older than we were, distinguished
himself advantageously among the students. Zachariä was pleased to spend
some weeks with us, and, being introduced by his brother, dined every
day with us at the same table. We rightly deemed it an honor to gratify
our guest in return, by a, few extra dishes, a richer dessert, and
choicer wine; for, as a tall, well-formed, comfortable man, he did not
conceal his love of good eating. Lessing came at a time when we had I
know not what in our heads: it was our good pleasure to go nowhere on
his account,--nay, even to avoid the places to which he came, probably
because we thought ourselves too good to stand at a distance, and could
make no pretension to obtain a closer intimacy with him. This momentary
absurdity, which, however, is nothing rare in presuming and freakish
youth, proved, indeed, its own punishment in the sequel; for I have
never set eyes on that eminent man, who was most highly esteemed by me.

Notwithstanding all our efforts relative to art and antiquity, we each
of us always had Winckelmann before our eyes, whose ability was
acknowledged in his country with enthusiasm. We read his writings
diligently, and tried to make ourselves acquainted with the
circumstances under which he had written the first of them. We found in
them many views which seemed to have originated with Oeser, even jests
and whims after his fashion: and we did not rest until we had formed
some general conception of the occasion on which these remarkable and
sometimes so enigmatical writings had arisen, though we were not very
accurate; for youth likes better to be excited than instructed, and it
was not the last time that I was to be indebted to Sibylline leaves for
an important step in cultivation.

It was then a fine period in literature, when eminent men were yet
treated with respect; although the disputes of Klotz and Lessing's
controversies already indicated that this epoch would soon close.
Winckelmann enjoyed an universal, unassailed reverence; and it is known
how sensitive he was with regard to any thing public which did not seem
commensurate with his deeply felt dignity. All the periodical
publications joined in his praise, the better class of tourists came
back from him instructed and enraptured, and the new views which he gave
extended themselves over science and life. The Prince of Dessau had
raised himself up to a similar degree of respect. Young, well and nobly
minded, he had on his travels and at other times shown himself truly
desirable. Winckelmann was in the highest degree delighted with him,
and, whenever he mentioned him, loaded him with the handsomest epithets.
The laying out of a park, then unique, the taste for architecture, which
Von Erdmannsdorf supported by his activity, every thing spoke in favor
of a prince, who, while he was a shining example for the rest, gave
promise of a golden age for his servants and subjects. We young people
now learned with rejoicings that Winckelmann would return back from
Italy, visit his princely friend, call on Oeser by the way, and so come
within our sphere of vision. We made no pretensions to speaking with
him, but we hoped to see him; and, as at that time of life one willingly
changes every occasion into a party of pleasure, we had already agreed
upon a journey to Dessau, where in a beautiful spot, made glorious by
art, in a land well governed and at the same time externally adorned, we
thought to lie in wait, now here, now there, in order to see with our
own eyes these men so highly exalted above us walking about. Oeser
himself was quite elated if he only thought of it, and the news of
Winckelmann's death fell down into the midst of us like a thunderbolt
from a clear sky. I still remember the place where I first heard it: it
was in the court of the Pleissenburg, not far from the little gate
through which one used to go up to Oeser's residence. One of my fellow-
pupils met me, and told me that Oeser was not to be seen, with the
reason why. This monstrous event [Footnote: Winckelmann was
assassinated.--TRANS.] produced a monstrous effect: there was an
universal mourning and lamentation, and Winckelmann's untimely death
sharpened the attention paid to the value of his life. Perhaps, indeed,
the effect of his activity, if he had /continued/ it to a more
advanced age, would probably not have been so great as it now
necessarily became, when, like many other extraordinary men, he was
distinguished by fate through a strange and calamitous end.

Now, while I was infinitely lamenting the death of Winckelmann, I did
not think that I should soon find myself in the case of being
apprehensive about my own life; since, during all these events, my
bodily condition had not taken the most favorable turn. I had already
brought with me from home a certain touch of hypochondria, which, in
this new sedentary and lounging life, was rather increased than
diminished. The pain in my chest, which I had felt from time to time
ever since the accident at Auerstädt, and which after a fall from
horseback had perceptibly increased, made me dejected. By an unfortunate
diet I destroyed my powers of digestion; the heavy Merseburg beer
clouded my brain; coffee, which gave me a peculiarly melancholy tone,
especially when taken with milk after dinner, paralyzed my bowels, and
seemed completely to suspend their functions, so that I experienced
great uneasiness on this account, yet without being able to embrace a
resolution for a more rational mode of life. My natural disposition,
supported by the sufficient strength of youth, fluctuated between the
extremes of unrestrained gayety and melancholy discomfort. Moreover, the
epoch of cold-water bathing, which was unconditionally recommended, had
then begun. One was to sleep on a hard bed, only slightly covered, by
which all the usual perspiration was suppressed. These and other
follies, in consequence of some misunderstood suggestions of Rousseau,
would, it was promised, bring us nearer to nature, and deliver us from
the corruption of morals. Now, all the above, without discrimination,
applied with injudicious alternation, were felt by many most
injuriously; and I irritated my happy organization to such a degree,
that the particular systems contained within it necessarily broke out at
last into a conspiracy and revolution, in order to save the whole.

One night I awoke with a violent hemorrhage, and had just strength and
presence of mind enough to waken my next-room neighbor. Dr. Reichel was
called in, who assisted me in the most friendly manner; and thus for
many days I wavered betwixt life and death: and even the joy of a
subsequent improvement was embittered by the circumstance that, during
that eruption, a tumor had formed on the left side of the neck, which,
after the danger was past, they now first found time to notice. Recovery
is, however, always pleasing and delightful, even though it takes place
slowly and painfully: and, since nature had helped herself with me, I
appeared now to have become another man; for I had gained a greater
cheerfulness of mind than I had known for a long time, and I was
rejoiced to feel my inner self at liberty, although externally a
wearisome affliction threatened me.

But what particularly set me up at this time was, to see how many
eminent men had, undeservedly, given me their affection. Undeservedly, I
say; for there was not one among them to whom I had not been troublesome
through contradictory humors, not one whom I had not more than once
wounded by morbid absurdity,--nay, whom I had not stubbornly avoided for
a long time, from a feeling of my own injustice. All this was forgotten:
they treated me in the most affectionate manner, and sought, partly in
my chamber, partly as soon as I could leave it, to amuse and divert me.
They drove out with me, entertained me at their country houses, and I
seemed soon to recover.

Among these friends I name first of all Docter Hermann, then senator,
afterwards burgomaster at Leipzig. He was among those boarders with whom
I had become acquainted through Schlosser, the one with whom an always
equable and enduring connection was maintained. One might well reckon
him the most industrious of his academical fellow-citizens. He attended
his lectures with the greatest regularity, and his private industry
remained always the same. Step by step, without the slightest deviation,
I saw him attain his doctor's degree, and then raise himself to the
assessorship, without any thing of all this appearing arduous to him, or
his having in the least hurried or been too late with any thing. The
gentleness of his character attracted me, his instructive conversation
held me fast; indeed, I really believe that I took delight in his
methodical industry especially for this reason, because I thought, by
acknowledgments and high esteem, to appropriate to myself at least a
part of a merit of which I could by no means boast.

He was just as regular in the exercise of his talents and the enjoyment
of his pleasures as in his business. He played the harpsichord with
great skill, drew from nature with feeling, and stimulated me to do the
same; when, in his manner, on gray paper and with black and white chalk,
I used to copy many a willow-plot on the Pleisse, and many a lovely nook
of those still waters, and at the same time longingly to indulge in my
fancies. He knew how to meet my sometimes comical disposition with merry
jests; and I remember many pleasant hours which we spent together when
he invited me, with mock solemnity, to a /tete-a-tete/ supper,
where, with some dignity, by the light of waxen candles, we ate what
they call a council-hare, which had run into his kitchen as a perquisite
of his place, and, with many jokes in the manner of Behrisch, were
pleased to season the meat and heighten the spirit of the wine. That
this excellent man, who is still constantly laboring in his respectable
office, rendered me the most faithful assistance during a disease, of
which there was indeed a foreboding, but which had not been foreseen in
its full extent; that he bestowed every leisure hour upon me, and, by
remembrances of former happy times, contrived to brighten the gloomy
moment,---I still acknowledge with the sincerest thanks, and rejoice
that after so long a time I can give them publicly.

Besides this worthy friend, Groening of Bremen particularly interested
himself in me. I had made his acquaintance only a short time before, and
first discovered his good feeling towards me during my misfortune: I
felt the value of this favor the more warmly, as no one is apt to seek a
closer connection with invalids. He spared nothing to give me pleasure,
to draw me away from musing on my situation, to hold up to my view and
promise me recovery and a wholesome activity in the nearest future. How
often have I been delighted, in the progress of life, to hear how this
excellent man has in the weightiest affairs shown himself useful, and
indeed a blessing to his native city.

Here, too, it was that friend Horn uninterruptedly brought into action
his love and attention. The whole Breitkopf household, the Stock family,
and many others, treated me like a near relative; and thus, through the
good will of so many friendly persons, the feeling of my situation was
soothed in the tenderest manner.

I must here, however, make particular mention of a man with whom I first
became acquainted at this time, and whose instructive conversation so
far blinded me to the miserable state in which I was, that I actually
forgot it. This was Langer, afterwards librarian at Wolfenbüttel.
Eminently learned and instructed, he was delighted at my voracious
hunger after knowledge, which, with the irritability of sickness, now
broke out into a perfect fever. He tried to calm me by perspicuous
summaries; and I have been very much indebted to his acquaintance, short
as it was, since he understood how to guide me in various ways, and made
me attentive whither I had to direct myself at the present moment. I
felt all the more obliged to this important man, as my intercourse
exposed him to some danger; for when, after Behrisch, he got the
situation of tutor to the young Count Lindenau, the father made it an
express condition with the new Mentor that he should have no intercourse
with me. Curious to become acquainted with such a dangerous subject, he
frequently found means of meeting me indirectly. I soon gained his
affection; and he, more prudent than Behrisch, called for me by night:
we went walking together, conversed on interesting things, and at last I
accompanied him to the very door of his mistress; for even this
externally severe, earnest, scientific man had not kept free from the
toils of a very amiable lady.

German literature, and with it my own poetical undertakings, had already
for some time become strange to me; and, as is usually the result in
such an auto-didactic circular course, I turned back towards the beloved
ancients who still constantly, like distant blue mountains, distinct in
their outlines and masses, but indiscernible in their parts and internal
relations, bounded the horizon of my intellectual wishes. I made an
exchange with Langer, in which I at last played the part of Glaucus and
Diomedes: I gave up to him whole baskets of German poets and critics,
and received in return a number of Greek authors, the reading of whom
was to give me recreation, even during the most tedious convalescence.

The confidence which new friends repose in each other usually develops
itself by degrees. Common occupation and tastes are the first things in
which a mutual harmony shows itself; then the mutual communication
generally extends over past and present passions, especially over love-
affairs: but it is a lower depth which opens itself, if the connection
is to be perfected; the religious sentiments, the affairs of the heart
which relate to the imperishable, are the things which both establish
the foundation and adorn the summit of a friendship.

The Christian religion was fluctuating between its own historically
positive base and a pure deism, which, grounded on morality, was in its
turn to lay the foundation of ethics. The diversity of characters and
modes of thought here showed itself in infinite gradations, especially
when a leading difference was brought into play by the question arising
as to how great a share reason, and how great a share the feelings,
could and should have in such convictions. The most lively and ingenious
men showed themselves, in this instance, like butterflies, who, quite
regardless of their caterpillar state, throw away the chrysalis veil in
which they have grown up to their organic perfection. Others, more
honestly and modestly minded, might be compared to the flowers, which,
although they unfold themselves to the most beautiful bloom, yet do not
tear themselves from the root, from the mother stalk, nay,--rather
through this family connection first bring the desired fruit to
maturity. Of this latter class was Langer; for although a learned man,
and eminently versed in books, he would yet give the Bible a peculiar
pre-eminence over the other writings which have come down to us, and
regard it as a document from which alone we could prove our moral and
spiritual pedigree. He belonged to those who cannot conceive an
immediate connection with the great God of the universe: a mediation,
therefore, was necessary for him, an analogy to which he thought he
could find everywhere in earthly and heavenly things. His discourse,
which was pleasing and consistent, easily found a hearing with a young
man, who, separated from worldly things by an annoying illness, found it
highly desirable to turn the activity of his mind towards the heavenly.
Grounded as I was in the Bible, all that was wanted was merely the faith
to explain as divine that which I had hitherto esteemed in human
fashion,---a belief the easier for me, since I had made my first
acquaintance with that book as a divine one. To a sufferer, to one who
felt himself delicate, nay, weak, the gospel was therefore welcome; and
even though Langer, with all his faith, was at the same time a very
sensible man, and firmly maintained that one should not let the feelings
prevail, should not let one's self be led astray into mysticism, I could
not have managed to occupy myself with the New Testament without feeling
and enthusiasm.

In such conversations we spent much time; and he grew so fond of me as
an honest and well-prepared proselyte, that he did not scruple to
sacrifice to me many of the hours destined for his fair one, and even to
run the risk of being betrayed and looked upon unfavorably by his
patron, like Behrisch. I returned his affection in the most grateful
manner; and, if what he did for me would have been of value at any time,
I could not but regard it, in my present condition, as worthy of the
highest honor.

But as when the concert of our souls is most spiritually attuned, the
rude, shrieking tones of the world usually break in most violently and
boisterously, and the contrast which has gone on exercising a secret
control affects us so much the more sensibly when it comes forward all
at once: thus was I not to be dismissed from the peripatetic school of
my Langer without having first witnessed an event, strange at least for
Leipzig; namely, a tumult which the students excited, and that on the
following pretence. Some young people had quarrelled with the city
soldiers, and the affair had not gone off without violence. Many of the
students combined to revenge the injuries inflicted. The soldiers
resisted stubbornly, and the advantage was not on the side of the very
discontented academical citizens. It was now said that respectable
persons had commended and rewarded the conquerors for their valiant
resistance; and, by this, the youthful feeling of honor and revenge was
mightily excited. It was publicly said, that, on the next evening,
windows would be broken in: and some friends who brought me word that
this was actually taking place, were obliged to carry me there; for
youth and the multitude are always attracted by danger and tumult. There
really began a strange spectacle. The otherwise open street was lined on
one side with men who, quite quiet, without noise or movement, were
waiting to see what would happen. About a dozen young fellows were
walking singly up and down the empty sidewalk, with the greatest
apparent composure; but, as soon as they came opposite the marked house,
they threw stones at the windows as they passed by, and this repeatedly
as they returned backwards and forwards, as long as the panes would
rattle. Just as quietly as this was done, all at last dispersed; and the
affair had no further consequences.

With such a ringing echo of university exploits, I left Leipzig in the
September of 1768, in a comfortable hired coach, and in the company of
some respectable persons of my acquaintance. In the neighborhood of
Auerstädt I thought of that previous accident; but I could not forebode
that which many years afterwards would threaten me from thence with
still greater danger, just as little as in Gotha, where we had the
castle shown to us, I could think in the great hall adorned with stucco
figures, that so much favor and affection would befall me on that very
spot.

The nearer I approached my native city, the more I recalled to myself
doubtingly the circumstances, prospects, and hopes with which I had left
home; and it was with a very disheartening feeling that I now returned,
as it were, like one shipwrecked. Yet, since I had not very much with
which to reproach myself, I contrived to compose myself tolerably well:
however, the welcome was not without emotion. The great vivacity of my
nature, excited and heightened by sickness, caused an impassioned scene.
I might have looked worse than I myself knew, since for a long time I
had not consulted a looking-glass; and who does not become used to
himself? Suffice it to say, they silently resolved to communicate many
things to me only by degrees, and before all things to let me have some
repose, both bodily and mental.

My sister immediately associated herself with me, and as previously,
from her letters, so I could now more in detail and accurately
understand the circumstances and situation of the family. My father had,
after my departure, applied all his didactic taste to my sister; and in
a house completely shut up, rendered secure by peace, and even cleared
of lodgers, he had cut off from her almost every means of looking about
and finding some recreation abroad. She had by turns to pursue and work
at French, Italian, and English; besides which he compelled her to
practise a great part of the day on the harpsichord. Nor was her writing
to be neglected; and I had already remarked that he had directed her
correspondence with me, and had let his doctrines come to me through her
pen. My sister was and still continued to be an undefinable being, the
most singular mixture of strength and weakness, of stubbornness and
pliability, which qualities operated now united, now isolated by will
and inclination. Thus she had, in a manner which seemed to me fearful,
turned the hardness of her character against her father, whom she did
not forgive for having, in these three years, hindered, or embittered to
her, so many innocent joys; and of his good and excellent qualities she
would not acknowledge even one. She did all he commanded and arranged,
but in the most unamiable manner in the world. She did it in the
established routine, but nothing more and nothing less. Not from love or
a desire to please did she accommodate herself to any thing, so that
this was one of the first things about which my mother complained to me
in private. But, since love was as essential to my sister as to any
human being, she turned her affection wholly on me. Her care in nursing
and entertaining me absorbed all her time: her female companions, who
were swayed by her without her intending it, had likewise to contrive
all sorts of things to be pleasing and consolatory to me. She was
inventive in cheering me up, and even developed some germs of comical
humor which I had never known in her, and which became her very well.
There soon arose between us a coterie-language, by which we could
converse before all people without their understanding us; and she often
used this gibberish with great pertness in the presence of our parents.

My father was personally tolerably comfortable. He was in good health,
spent a great part of the day in the instruction of my sister, went on
with the description of his travels, and was longer in tuning his lute
than in playing on it. He concealed at the same time, as well as he
could, his vexation at finding, instead of a vigorous, active son, who
ought now to take his degree and run through the prescribed course of
life, an invalid who seemed to suffer still more in soul than in body.
He did not conceal his wish that they would be expeditious with my cure;
but one was forced to be specially on one's guard in his presence
against hypochondriacal expressions, because he could then become
passionate and bitter.

My mother, by nature very lively and cheerful, spent under these
circumstances very tedious days. Her little housekeeping was soon
provided for. The good woman's mind, inwardly never unoccupied, wished
to find an interest in something; and that which was nearest at hand was
religion, which she embraced the more fondly as her most eminent female
friends were cultivated and hearty worshippers of God. At the head of
these stood Fräulein von Klettenberg. She is the same person from whose
conversations and letters arose the "Confessions of a Beautiful Soul,"
which are found inserted in "Wilhelm Meister." She was slenderly formed,
of the middle size: a hearty natural demeanor had been made still more
pleasing by the manners of the world and the court. Her very neat attire
reminded of the dress of the Hernhutt women. Her serenity and peace of
mind never left her; she looked upon her sickness as a necessary element
of her transient earthly existence; she suffered with the greatest
patience, and, in painless intervals, was lively and talkative. Her
favorite, nay, indeed, perhaps her only, conversation, was on the moral
experiences which a man who observes himself can form in himself; to
which was added the religious views which, in a very graceful manner,
nay, with genius, came under her consideration as natural and
supernatural. It scarcely needs more to recall back to the friends of
such representations, that complete delineation composed from the very
depths of her soul. Owing to the very peculiar course she had taken from
her youth upwards, the distinguished rank in which she had been born and
educated, and the liveliness and originality of her mind, she did not
agree very well with the other ladies who had set out on the same road
to salvation. Frau Griesbach, the chief of them, seemed too severe, too
dry, too learned: she knew, thought, comprehended, more than the others,
who contented themselves with the development of their feelings; and she
was therefore burdensome to them, because every one neither could nor
would carry with her so great an apparatus on the road to bliss. But for
this reason most of them were indeed somewhat monotonous, since they
confined themselves to a certain terminology which might well have been
compared to that of the later sentimentalists. Fräulein von Klettenberg
guided her way between both extremes, and seemed, with some self-
complacency, to see her own reflections in the image of Count
Zindendorf, whose opinions and actions bore witness to a higher birth
and more distinguished rank. Now she found in me what she needed, a
lively young creature, striving after an unknown happiness, who,
although he could not think himself an extraordinary sinner, yet found
himself in no comfortable condition, and was perfectly healthy neither
in body nor soul. She was delighted with what nature had given me, as
well as with much which I had gained for myself. And, if she conceded to
me many advantages, this was by no means humiliating to her: for, in the
first place, she never thought of emulating one of the male sex; and,
secondly, she believed, that, in regard to religious culture, she was
very much in advance of me. My disquiet, my impatience, my striving, my
seeking, investigating, musing, and wavering, she interpreted in her own
way, and did not conceal from me her conviction, but assured me in plain
terms that all this proceeded from my having no reconciled God. Now, I
had believed from my youth upwards that I stood on very good terms with
my God,--nay, I even fancied to myself, according to various
experiences, that he might even be in arrears to me; and I was daring
enough to think that I had something to forgive him. This presumption
was grounded on my infinite good will, to which, as it seemed to me, he
should have given better assistance. It may be imagined how often I got
into disputes on this subject with my friend, which, however, always
terminated in the friendliest way, and often, like my conversations with
the old rector, with the remark, "that I was a foolish fellow, for whom
many allowances must be made."

I was much troubled with the tumor in my neck, as the physician and
surgeon wished first to disperse this excrescence, afterwards, as they
said, to draw it to a head, and at last thought it best to open it; so
for a long time I had to suffer more from inconvenience than pain,
although towards the end of the cure the continual touching with lunar
caustic and other corrosive substances could not but give me very
disagreeable prospects for every fresh day. The physician and surgeon
both belonged to the Pious Separatists, although both were of highly
different natural characters. The surgeon, a slender, well-built man, of
easy and skilful hand, was unfortunately somewhat hectic, but endured
his condition with truly Christian patience, and did not suffer his
disease to perplex him in his profession. The physician was an
inexplicable, sly-looking, fair-spoken, and, besides, an abstruse, man,
who had quite won the confidence of the pious circle. Being active and
attentive, he was consoling to the sick; but, more than by all this, he
extended his practice by the gift of showing in the background some
mysterious medicines prepared by himself, of which no one could speak,
since with us the physicians were strictly prohibited from making up
their own prescriptions. With certain powders, which may have been some
kind of digestive, he was not so reserved, but that powerful salt, which
could only be applied in the greatest danger, was only mentioned among
believers; although no one had yet seen it or traced its effects. To
excite and strengthen our faith in the possibility of such an universal
remedy, the physician, wherever he found any susceptibility, had
recommended certain chemico-alchemical books to his patients, and given
them to understand, that, by one's own study of them, one could well
attain this treasure for one's self, which was the more necessary, as
the mode of its preparation, both for physical, and especially for
moral, reasons, could not be well communicated; nay, that in order to
comprehend, produce, and use this great work, one must know the secrets
of nature in connection, since it was not a particular, but an universal
remedy, and could indeed be produced under different forms and shapes.
My friend had listened to these enticing words. The health of the body
was too nearly allied to the health of the soul; and could a greater
benefit, a greater mercy, be shown towards others than by appropriating
to one's self a remedy by which so many sufferings could be assuaged, so
many a danger averted? She had already secretly studied Welling's "Opus
Mago-cabalisticum," for which, however, as the author himself
immediately darkens and removes the light he imparts, she was looking
about for a friend, who, in this alternation of glare and gloom, might
bear her company. It needed small incitement to inoculate me also with
this disease. I procured the work, which, like all writings of this
kind, could trace its pedigree in a direct line up to the Neo-Platonic
school. My chief labor in this book was most accurately to notice the
obscure hints by which the author refers from one passage to another,
and thus promises to reveal what he conceals, and to mark down on the
terminology which might well have been compared to that of the later
sentimentalists. Fräulein von Klettenberg guided her way between both
extremes, and seemed, with some self-complacency, to see her own
reflections in the image of Count Zindendorf, whose opinions and actions
bore witness to a higher birth and more distinguished rank. Now she
found in me what she needed, a lively young creature, striving after an
unknown happiness, who, although he could not think himself an
extraordinary sinner, yet found himself in no comfortable condition, and
was perfectly healthy neither in body nor soul. She was delighted with
what nature had given me, as well as with much which I had gained for
myself. And, if she conceded to me many advantages, this was by no means
humiliating to her: for, in the first place, she never thought of
emulating one of the male sex; and, secondly, she believed, that, in
regard to religious culture, she was very much in advance of me. My
disquiet, my impatience, my striving, my seeking, investigating, musing,
and wavering, she interpreted in her own way, and did not conceal from
me her conviction, but assured me in plain terms that all this proceeded
from my having no reconciled God. Now, I had believed from my youth
upwards that I stood on very good terms with my God,--nay, I even
fancied to myself, according to various experiences, that he might even
be in arrears to me; and I was daring enough to think that I had
something to forgive him. This presumption was grounded on my infinite
good will, to which, as it seemed to me, he should have given better
assistance. It may be imagined how often I got into disputes on this
subject with my friend, which, however, always terminated in the
friendliest way, and often, like my conversations with the old rector,
with the remark, "that I was a foolish fellow, for whom many allowances
must be made."

I was much troubled with the tumor in my neck, as the physician and
surgeon wished first to disperse this excrescence, afterwards, as they
said, to draw it to a head, and at last thought it best to open it; so
for a long time I had to suffer more from inconvenience than pain,
although towards the end of the cure the continual touching with lunar
caustic and other corrosive substances could not but give me very
disagreeable prospects for every fresh day. The physician and surgeon
both belonged to the Pious Separatists, although both were of highly
different natural characters. The surgeon, a slender, well-built man, of
easy and skilful hand, was unfortunately somewhat hectic, but endured
his condition with truly Christian patience, and did not suffer his
disease to perplex him in his profession. The physician was an
inexplicable, sly-looking, fair-spoken, and, besides, an abstruse, man,
who had quite won the confidence of the pious circle. Being active and
attentive, he was consoling to the sick; but, more than by all this, he
extended his practice by the gift of showing in the background some
mysterious medicines prepared by himself, of which no one could speak,
since with us the physicians were strictly prohibited from making up
their own prescriptions. With certain powders, which may have been some
kind of digestive, he was not so reserved, but that powerful salt, which
could only be applied in the greatest danger, was only mentioned among
believers; although no one had yet seen it or traced its effects. To
excite and strengthen our faith in the possibility of such an universal
remedy, the physician, wherever he found any susceptibility, had
recommended certain chemico-alchemical books to his patients, and given
them to understand, that, by one's own study of them, one could well
attain this treasure for one's self, which was the more necessary, as
the mode of its preparation, both for physical, and especially for
moral, reasons, could not be well communicated; nay, that in order to
comprehend, produce, and use this great work, one must know the secrets
of nature in connection, since it was not a particular, but an universal
remedy, and could indeed be produced under different forms and shapes.
My friend had listened to these enticing words. The health of the body
was too nearly allied to the health of the soul; and could a greater
benefit, a greater mercy, be shown towards others than by appropriating
to one's self a remedy by which so many sufferings could be assuaged, so
many a danger averted? She had already secretly studied Welling's "Opus
Mago-cabalisticum," for which, however, as the author himself
immediately darkens and removes the light he imparts, she was looking
about for a friend, who, in this alternation of glare and gloom, might
bear her company. It needed small incitement to inoculate me also with
this disease. I procured the work, which, like all writings of this
kind, could trace its pedigree in a direct line up to the Neo-Platonic
school. My chief labor in this book was most accurately to notice the
obscure hints by which the author refers from one passage to another,
and thus promises to reveal what he conceals, and to mark down on the
margin the number of the page where such passages as should explain each
other were to be found. But even thus the book still remained dark and
unintelligible enough, except that one at last studied one's self into a
certain terminology, and, by using it according to one's own fancy,
believed that one was, at any rate, saying, if not understanding,
something. The work mentioned before makes very honorable mention of its
predecessors, and we were incited to investigate those original sources
themselves. We turned to the works of Theophrastus, Paracelsus, and
Basilius Valentinus, as well as to those of Helmont, Starkey, and
others, whose doctrines and directions, resting more or less on nature
and imagination, we endeavored to see into and follow out. I was
particularly pleased with the "Aurea Catena Homeri," in which nature,
though perhaps in fantastical fashion, is represented in a beautiful
combination; and thus sometimes by ourselves, sometimes together, we
employed much time on these singularities, and spent the evenings of a
long winter--during which I was compelled to keep my chamber--very
agreeably, since we three (my mother being included) were more delighted
with these secrets than we could have been at their elucidation.

In the mean time, a very severe trial was preparing for me: for a
disturbed, and, one might even say, for certain moments, destroyed
digestion, excited such symptoms, that, in great tribulation, I thought
I should lose my life; and none of the remedies applied would produce
any further effect. In this last extremity my distressed mother
constrained the embarrassed physician with the greatest vehemence to
come out with his universal medicine. After a long refusal, he hastened
home at the dead of night, and returned with a little glass of
crystallized dry salt, which was dissolved in water, and swallowed by
the patient. It had a decidedly alkaline taste. The salt was scarcely
taken than my situation appeared relieved; and from that moment the
disease took a turn which, by degrees, led to my recovery. I need not
say how much this strengthened and heightened our faith in our
physician, and our industry to share in such a treasure.

My friend, who, without parents or brothers and sisters, lived in a
large, well-situated house, had already before this begun to purchase
herself a little air-furnace, alembics, and retorts of moderate size,
and, in accordance with the hints of Welling, and the significant signs
of our physician and master, operated principally on iron, in which the
most healing powers were said to be concealed, if one only knew how to
open it. And as the volatile salt which must be produced made a great
figure in all the writings with which we were acquainted; so, for these
operations, alkalies also were required, which, while they flowed away
into the air, were to unite with these superterrestrial things, and at
last produce, /per se/, a mysterious and excellent neutral salt.

No sooner was I in some measure restored, and, favored by the change in
the season, once more able to occupy my old gable-chamber, than I also
began to provide myself with a little apparatus. A small air-furnace
with a sand-bath was prepared; and I very soon learned to change the
glass alembics, with a piece of burning match-cord, into vessels in
which the different mixtures were to be evaporated. Now were the strange
ingredients of the macrocosm and microcosm handled in an odd, mysterious
manner; and, before all, I attempted to produce neutral salts in an
unheard-of way. But what, for a long time, kept me busy most, was the
so-called /Liquor Silicum/ (flint-juice), which is made by melting
down pure quartz-flint with a proper proportion of alkali, whence
results a transparent glass, which melts away on exposure to the air,
and exhibits a beautiful clear fluidity. Whoever has once prepared this
himself, and seen it with his own eyes, will not blame those who believe
in a maiden earth, and in the possibility of producing further effects
upon it by means of it. I had become quite skilful in preparing this
/Liquor Silicum/; the fine white flints which are found in the Main
furnished a perfect material for it: and I was not wanting in the other
requisites, nor in diligence. But I wearied at last, because I could not
but remark that the flinty substance was by no means so closely combined
with the salt as I had philosophically imagined, for it very easily
separated itself again; and this most beautiful mineral fluidity, which,
to my greatest astonishment, had sometimes appeared in the form of an
animal jelly, always deposited a powder, which I was forced to pronounce
the finest flint dust, but which gave not the least sign of any thing
productive in its nature from which one could have hoped to see this
maiden earth pass into the maternal state.

Strange and unconnected as these operations were, I yet learned many
things from them. I paid strict attention to all the crystallizations
that might occur, and became acquainted with the external forms of many
natural things: and, inasmuch as I well knew that in modern times
chemical subjects were treated more methodically, I wished to get a
general conception of them; although, as a half-adept, I had very little
respect for the apothecaries and all those who operated with common
fire. However, the chemical "Compendium" of Boerhaave attracted me
powerfully, and led me on to read several of his writings, in which
(since, moreover, my tedious illness had inclined me towards medical
subjects) I found an inducement to study also the "Aphorisms" of this
excellent man, which I was glad to stamp upon my mind and in my memory.

Another employment, somewhat more human, and by far more useful for my
cultivation at the moment, was reading through the letters which I had
written home from Leipzig. Nothing reveals more with respect to
ourselves, than when we again see before us that which has proceeded
from us years before, so that we can now consider ourselves as an object
of contemplation. But, of course, I was as yet too young, and the epoch
which was represented by those papers was still too near. As in our
younger years we do not in general easily cast off a certain self-
complacent conceit, this especially shows itself in despising what we
have been but a little time before; for while, indeed, we perceive, as
we advance from step to step, that those things which we regard as good
and excellent in ourselves and others do not stand their ground, we
think we can best extricate ourselves from this dilemma by ourselves
throwing away what we cannot preserve. So it was with me also. For as in
Leipzig I had gradually learned to set little value on my childish
labors, so now my academical course seemed to me likewise of small
account; and I did not understand, that, for this very reason, it must
be of great value to me, as it elevated me to a higher degree of
observation and insight. My father had carefully collected and sewed
together the letters I had written to him, as well as those to my
sister; nay, he had even corrected them with attention, and improved the
mistakes, both in writing and in grammar.

What first struck me in these letters was their exterior: I was shocked
at an incredible carelessness in the handwriting, which extended from
October, 1765, to the middle of the following January. But, in the
middle of March, there appeared all at once a quite compressed, orderly
hand, such as I used formerly to employ in writing for a prize. My
astonishment resolved itself into gratitude towards good Gellert, who,
as I now well remembered, whenever we handed in our essays to him,
represented to us, in his hearty tone of voice, that it was our sacred
duty to practise our hand as much, nay, more, than our style. He
repeated this as often as he caught sight of any scrawled, careless
writing, on which occasion he often said that he would much like to make
a good hand of his pupils the principal end in his instructions; the
more so as he had often remarked that a good hand led the way to a good
style.

I could further notice that the French and English passages in my
letters, although not free from blunders, were nevertheless written with
facility and freedom. These languages I had likewise continued to
practise in my correspondence with George Schlosser, who was still at
Treptow; and I had remained in constant communication with him, by which
I was instructed in many secular affairs (for things did not always turn
out with him quite as he had hoped), and acquired an ever increasing
confidence in his earnest, noble way of thinking.

Another consideration which could not escape me in going over these
letters, was that my good father, with the best intentions, had done me
a special mischief, and had led me into that odd way of life into which
I had fallen at last. He had repeatedly warned me against card-playing;
but Frau Hofrath Böhme, as long as she lived, contrived to persuade me,
after her own fashion, by declaring that my father's warnings were only
against the abuse. Now, as I likewise saw the advantages of it in
society, I readily submitted to being led by her. I had indeed the sense
of play, but not the spirit of play: I learned all games easily and
rapidly, but I could never keep up the proper attention for a whole
evening. Therefore, however good a beginning I would make, I invariably
failed at the end, and made myself and others lose; through which I went
off, always out of humor, either to the supper-table or out of the
company. Scarcely had Madame Böhme died, who, moreover, had no longer
kept me in practice during her tedious illness, when my father's
doctrine gained force: I at first begged to be excused from joining the
card-tables; and, as they now did not know what else to do with me, I
became even more of a burden to myself than to others, and declined the
invitations, which then became more rare, and at last ceased altogether.
Play, which is much to be recommended to young people, especially to
those who incline to be practical, and wish to look about in the world
for themselves, could never, indeed, become a passion with me; for I
never got any farther, no matter how long I might have been playing. Had
any one given me a general view of the subject, and made me observe how
here certain signs and more or less of chance form a kind of material,
at which judgment and activity can exercise themselves; had any one made
me see several games at once,--I might sooner have become reconciled.
With all this, at the time of which I am now speaking, I had, from the
above considerations, come to the conviction, that one should not avoid
social games, but should rather strive after a certain skill in them.
Time is infinitely long; and each day is a vessel into which a great
deal may be poured, if one would actually fill it up.

Thus variously was I occupied in my solitude; the more so, as the
departed spirits of the different tastes to which I had from time to
time devoted myself had an opportunity to re-appear. I then again took
up drawing: and as I always wished to labor directly from nature, or
rather from reality, I made a picture of my chamber, with its furniture,
and the persons who were in it; and, when this no more amused me, I
represented all sorts of town-tales, which were told at the time, and in
which interest was taken. All this was not without character and a
certain taste; but unfortunately the figures lacked proportion and the
proper vigor, besides which the execution was extremely misty. My
father, who continued to take pleasure in these things, wished to have
them more distinct, wanting every thing to be finished and properly
completed. He therefore had them mounted and surrounded with ruled
lines; nay, the painter Morgenstern, his domestic artist,--the same who
afterwards made himself known, and indeed famous, by his church-views,--
had to insert the perspective lines of the rooms and chambers, which
then, indeed, stood in pretty harsh contrast with those cloudy looking
figures. In this manner he thought he would make me gain greater
accuracy; and, to please him, I drew various objects of still life, in
which, since the originals stood as patterns before me, I could work
with more distinctness and precision. At last I took it into my head to
etch once more. I had composed a tolerably interesting landscape, and
felt myself very happy when I could look out for the old receipts given
me by Stock, and could, at my work, call to mind those pleasant times. I
soon bit the plate and had a proof taken. Unluckily the composition was
without light and shade, and I now tormented myself to bring in both;
but, as it was not quite clear to me what was really the essential
point, I could not finish. Up to this time I had been quite well, after
my own fashion; but now a disease attacked me which had never troubled
me before. My throat, namely, had become completely sore, and
particularly what is called the "uvula" very much inflamed: I could only
swallow with great pain, and the physicians did not know what to make of
it. They tormented me with gargles and hair-pencils, but could not free
me from my misery. At last it struck me that I had not been careful
enough in the biting of my plates, and that, by often and passionately
repeating it, I had contracted this disease, and always revived and
increased it. To the physicians this cause was plausible, and very soon
certain on my leaving my etching and biting, and that so much the more
readily as the attempt had by no means turned out well, and I had more
reason to conceal than to exhibit my labors; for which I consoled myself
the more easily, as I very soon saw myself free from the troublesome
disease. Upon this I could not refrain from the reflection, that my
similar occupations at Leipzig might have greatly contributed to those
diseases from which I had suffered so much. It is, indeed, a tedious,
and withal a melancholy, business to take too much care of ourselves,
and of what injures and benefits us; but there is no question but that,
with the wonderful idiosyncrasy of human nature on the one side, and the
infinite variety in the mode of life and pleasure on the other, it is a
wonder that the human race has not worn itself out long ago. Human
nature appears to possess a peculiar kind of toughness and many-
sidedness, since it subdues every thing which approaches it, or which it
takes into itself, and, if it cannot assimilate, at least makes it
indifferent. In case of any great excess, indeed, it must yield to the
elements in spite of all resistance, as the many endemic diseases and
the effects of brandy convince us. Could we, without being morbidly
anxious, keep watch over ourselves as to what operates favorably or
unfavorably upon us in our complicated civil and social life, and would
we leave off what is actually pleasant to us as an enjoyment, for the
sake of the evil consequences, we should thus know how to remove with
ease many an inconvenience which, with a constitution otherwise sound,
often troubles us more than even a disease. Unfortunately, it is in
dietetics as in morals,--we cannot see into a fault till we have got rid
of it; by which nothing is gained, for the next fault is not like the
preceding one, and therefore cannot be recognized under the same form.

While I was reading over the letters which had been written to my sister
from Leipzig, this remark, among others, could not escape me,--that,
from the very beginning of my academical course, I had esteemed myself
very clever and wise, since, as soon as I had learned any thing, I put
myself in the place of the professor, and so became didactic on the
spot. I was amused to see how I had immediately applied to my sister
whatever Gellert had imparted or advised in his lectures, without
seeing, that, both in life and in books, a thing may be proper for a
young man without being suitable for a young lady; and we both together
made merry over these mimicries. The poems also which I had composed in
Leipzig were already too poor for me; and they seemed to me cold, dry,
and, in respect of all that was meant to express the state of the human
heart or mind, too superficial. This induced me, now that I was to leave
my father's house once more, and go to a second university, again to
decree a great high /auto-da-fé/ against my labors. Several
commenced plays, some of which had reached the third or the fourth act,
while others had only the plot fully made out, together with many other
poems, letters, and papers, were given over to the fire: and scarcely
any thing was spared except the manuscript by Behrisch, "Die Laune des
Verliebten" and "Die Mitschuldigen," which latter play I constantly went
on improving with peculiar affection; and, as the piece was already
complete, I again worked over the plot, to make it more bustling and
intelligible. Lessing, in the first two acts of his "Minna," had set up
an unattainable model of the way in which a drama should be developed;
and nothing was to me of greater importance than to thoroughly enter
into his meaning and views.

The recital of whatever moved, excited, and occupied me at this time, is
already circumstantial enough; but I must nevertheless recur to that
interest with which supersensuous things had inspired me, of which I,
once for all, so far as might be possible, undertook to form some
notion.

I experienced a great influence from an important work that fell into my
hands: it was Arnold's "History of the Church and of Heretics." This man
is not merely a reflective historian, but at the same time pious and
feeling. His sentiments chimed in very well with mine; and what
particularly delighted me in his work was, that I received a more
favorable notion of many heretics, who had been hitherto represented to
me as mad or impious. The spirit of contradiction and the love of
paradoxes are inherent in us all. I diligently studied the different
opinions: and as I had often enough heard it said that every man has his
own religion at last, so nothing seemed more natural to me than that I
should form mine too; and this I did with much satisfaction. The Neo-
Platonism lay at the foundation; the hermetical, the mystical, the
cabalistic, also contributed their share; and thus I built for myself a
world that looked strange enough.

I could well represent to myself a Godhead which has gone on producing
itself from all eternity; but, as production cannot be conceived without
multiplicity, so it must of necessity have immediately appeared to
itself as a Second, which we recognize under the name of the Son: now,
these two must continue the act of producing, and again appear to
themselves in a Third, which was just as substantial, living, and
eternal as the Whole. With these, however, the circle of the Godhead was
complete; and it would not have been possible for them to produce
another perfectly equal to them. But, since the work of production
always proceeded, they created a fourth, which already fostered in
himself a contradiction, inasmuch as it was, like them, unlimited, and
yet at the same time was to be contained in them and bounded by them.
Now, this was Lucifer, to whom the whole power of creation was committed
from this time, and from whom all other beings were to proceed. He
immediately displayed his infinite activity by creating the whole body
of angels,--all, again, after his own likeness, unlimited, but contained
in him and bounded by him. Surrounded by such a glory, he forgot his
higher origin, and believed that he could find himself in himself; and
from this first ingratitude sprang all that does not seem to us in
accordance with the will and purposes of the Godhead. Now, the more he
concentrated himself within himself, the more painful must it have
become to him, as well as to all the spirits whose sweet uprising to
their origin he had embittered. And so that happened which is intimated
to us under the form of the Fall of the Angels. One part of them
concentrated itself with Lucifer, the other turned itself again to its
origin. From this concentration of the whole creation--for it had
proceeded out of Lucifer, and was forced to follow him--sprang all that
we perceive under the form of matter, which we figure to ourselves as
heavy, solid, and dark, but which, since it is descended, if not even
immediately, yet by filiation, from the Divine Being, is just as
unlimited, powerful, and eternal as its sire and grandsire. Now, the
whole mischief, if we may call it so, having arisen merely through the
one-sided direction of Lucifer, the better half was indeed wanting to
this creation; for it possessed all that is gained by concentration,
while it lacked all that can be effected by expansion alone: and so the
entire creation might have been destroyed by everlasting concentration,
become annihilated with its father Lucifer, and have lost all its claims
to an equal eternity with the Godhead. This condition the Elohim
contemplated for a time: and they had their choice, to wait for those
eons, in which the field would again have become clear, and space would
be left them for a new creation; or, if they would, to seize upon that
which existed already, and supply the want, according to their own
eternity. Now, they chose the latter, and by their mere will supplied in
an instant the whole want which the consequence of Lucifer's undertaking
drew after it. They gave to the Eternal Being the faculty of expansion,
of moving towards them: the peculiar pulse of life was again restored,
and Lucifer himself could not avoid its effects. This is the epoch when
that appeared which we know as light, and when that began which we are
accustomed to designate by the word creation. However much this
multiplied itself by progressive degrees, through the continually
working vital power of the Elohim, still a being was wanting who might
be able to restore the original connection with the Godhead: and thus
man was produced, who in all things was to be similar, yea, equal to the
Godhead, but thereby, in effect, found himself once more in the
situation of Lucifer, that of being at once unlimited and limited; and
since this contradiction was to manifest itself in him through all the
categories of existence, and a perfect consciousness, as well as a
decided will, was to accompany his various conditions, it was to be
foreseen that he must be at the same time the most perfect and the most
imperfect, the most happy and the most unhappy, creature. It was not
long before he, too, completely acted the part of Lucifer. True
ingratitude is the separation from the benefactor; and thus that fall
was manifest for the second time, although the whole creation is nothing
and was nothing but a falling from and returning to the original.

One easily sees how the Redemption is not only decreed from eternity,
but is considered as eternally necessary,--nay, that it must ever renew
itself through the whole time of generation [Footnote: "Das Werden," the
state of becoming, as distinguished from that of being. The word, which
is most useful to the Germans, can never be rendered properly in
English.--TRANS.] and existence. In this view of the subject, nothing is
more natural than for the Divinity himself to take the form of man,
which had already prepared itself as a veil, and to share his fate for a
short time, in order, by this assimilation, to enhance his joys and
alleviate his sorrows. The history of all religions and philosophies
teaches us, that this great truth, indispensable to man, has been handed
down by different nations, in different times, in various ways, and even
in strange fables and images, in accordance with their limited
knowledge: enough, if it only be acknowledged that we find ourselves in
a condition which, even if it seems to drag us down and oppress us, yet
gives us opportunity, nay, even makes it our duty, to raise ourselves
up, and to fulfil the purposes of the Godhead in this manner, that,
while we are compelled on the one hand to concentrate ourselves (/uns
zu verselbsten/), we, on the other hand, do not omit to expand
ourselves (/uns zu entselbstigen/) in regular pulsation. [Footnote:
If we could make use of some such verbs as "inself" and "unself," we
should more accurately render this passage.--TRANS.]



NINTH BOOK.

"The heart is often affected, moreover, to the advantage of different,
but especially of social and refined, virtues; and the more tender
sentiments are excited and unfolded in it. Many touches, in particular,
will impress themselves, which give the young reader an insight into the
more hidden corner of the human heart and its passions,--a knowledge
which is more worth than all Latin and Greek, and of which Ovid was a
very excellent master. But yet it is not on this account that the
classic poets, and therefore Ovid, are placed in the hands of youth. We
have received from a kind Creator a variety of mental powers, to which
we must not neglect giving their proper culture in our earliest years,
and which cannot be cultivated, either by logic or metaphysics, Latin or
Greek. We have an imagination, before which, since it should not seize
upon the very first conceptions that chance to present themselves, we
ought to place the fittest and most beautiful images, and thus accustom
and practise the mind to recognize and love the beautiful everywhere,
and in nature itself, under its determined, true, and also in its finer,
features. A multitude of conceptions and general knowledge is necessary
to us, as well for the sciences as for daily life, which can be learned
out of no compendium. Our feelings, affections, and passions should be
advantageously developed and purified."

This significant passage, which is found in "The Universal German
Library," was not the only one of its kind. Similar principles and
similar views manifested themselves in many directions. They made upon
us lively youths a very great impression, which had the more decided
effect, as it was strengthened besides by Wieland's example; for the
works of his second brilliant period clearly showed that he had formed
himself according to such maxims. And what more could we desire?
Philosophy, with its abstruse questions, was set aside; the classic
languages, the acquisition of which is accompanied by so much drudgery,
one saw thrust into the background; the compendiums, about the
sufficiency of which Hamlet had already whispered a word of caution into
our ears, came more and more into suspicion. We were directed to the
contemplation of an active life, which we were so fond of leading; and
to the knowledge of the passions, which we partly felt, partly
anticipated, in our own bosoms, and which, if though they had been
rebuked formerly, now appeared to us as something important and
dignified, because they were to be the chief object of our studies; and
the knowledge of them was extolled as the most excellent means of
cultivating our mental powers. Besides, such a mode of thought was quite
in accordance with my own conviction,--nay, with my poetical mode of
treatment. I therefore, without opposition, after I had thwarted so many
good designs, and seen so many fair hopes vanish, reconciled myself to
my father's intention of sending me to Strasburg, where I was promised a
cheerful, gay life, while I should prosecute my studies, and at last
take my degree.

In spring I felt my health, but still more my youthful spirits,
restored, and once more longed to be out of my father's house, though
with reasons far different from those on the first time. The pretty
chambers and spots where I had suffered so much had become disagreeable
to me, and with my father himself there could be no pleasant relation. I
could not quite pardon him for having manifested more impatience than
was reasonable at the relapse of my disease, and at my tedious recovery;
nay, for having, instead of comforting me by forbearance, frequently
expressed himself in a cruel manner, about that which lay in no man's
hand, as if it depended only on the will. And he, too, was in various
ways hurt and offended by me.

For young people bring back from the university general ideas, which,
indeed, is quite right and good; but, because they fancy themselves very
wise in this, they apply them as a standard to the objects that occur,
which must then, for the most part, lose by the comparison. Thus I had
gained a general notion of architecture, and of the arrangement and
decoration of houses, and imprudently, in conversation, had applied this
to our own house. My father had designed the whole arrangement of it,
and carried out its construction with great perseverance; and,
considering that it was to be exclusively a residence for himself and
his family, nothing could be objected to it: in this taste, also, very
many of the houses in Frankfort were built. An open staircase ran up
through the house, and touched upon large ante-rooms, which might very
well have been chambers themselves, as, indeed, we always passed the
fine season in them. But this pleasant, cheerful existence for a single
family--this communication from above to below--became the greatest
inconvenience as soon as several parties occupied the house, as we had
but too well experienced on the occasion of the French quartering. For
that painful scene with the king's lieutenant would not have happened,
nay, my father would even have felt all those disagreeable matters less,
if, after the Leipzig fashion, our staircase had run close along the
side of the house, and a separate door had been given to each story.
This style of building I once praised highly for its advantages, and
showed my father the possibility of altering his staircase also; whereat
he got into an incredible passion, which was the more violent as, a
short time before, I had found fault with some scrolled looking-glass
frames, and rejected certain Chinese hangings. A scene ensued, which,
indeed, was again hushed up and smothered; but it hastened my journey to
the beautiful Alsace, which I accomplished in a newly contrived
comfortable diligence, without delay, and in a short time.

I had alighted at the Ghost (/Geist/) tavern, and hastened at once
to satisfy my most earnest desire and to approach the minster, which had
long since been pointed out to me by fellow-travellers, and had been
before my eyes for a great distance. When I first perceived this
Colossus through the narrow lanes, and then stood too near before it, in
the truly confined little square, it made upon me an impression quite of
its own kind, which I, being unable to analyze on the spot, carried with
me only indistinctly for this time, as I hastily ascended the building,
so as not to neglect the beautiful moment of a high and cheerful sun,
which was to disclose to me at once the broad, rich land.

And now, from the platform, I saw before me the beautiful country in
which I should for a long time live and reside: the handsome city; the
wide-spreading meadows around it, thickly set and interwoven with
magnificent trees; that striking richness of vegetation which follows in
the windings of the Rhine, marks its banks, islands, and aits. Nor is
the level ground, stretching down from the south, and watered by the
Iller, less adorned with varied green. Even westward, towards the
mountains, there are many low grounds, which afford quite as charming a
view of wood and meadow-growth, just as the northern and more hilly part
is intersected by innumerable little brooks, which promote a rapid
vegetation everywhere. If one imagines, between these luxuriantly
outstretched meads, between these joyously scattered groves, all land
adapted for tillage, excellently prepared, verdant, and ripening, and
the best and richest spots marked by hamlets and farmhouses, and this
great and immeasurable plain, prepared for man, like a new paradise,
bounded far and near by mountains partly cultivated, partly overgrown
with woods, he will then conceive the rapture with which I blessed my
fate, that it had destined me, for some time, so beautiful a dwelling-
place.

Such a fresh glance into a new land in which we are to abide for a time,
has still the peculiarity, both pleasant and foreboding, that the whole
lies before us like an unwritten tablet. As yet no sorrows and joys
which relate to ourselves are recorded upon it; this cheerful, varied,
animated plain is still mute for us; the eye is only fixed on the
objects so far as they are intrinsically important, and neither
affection nor passion has especially to render prominent this or that
spot. But a presentiment of the future already disquiets the young
heart; and an unsatisfied craving secretly demands that which is to come
and may come, and which at all events, whether for good or ill, will
imperceptibly assume the character of the spot in which we find
ourselves.

Having descended the height, I still tarried a while before the face of
the venerable pile; but what I could not quite clearly make out, either
the first or the following time, was, that I regarded this miracle as a
monster, which must have terrified me, if it had not, at the same time,
appeared to me comprehensible by its regularity, and even pleasing in
its finish. Yet I by no means busied myself with meditating on this
contradiction, but suffered a monument so astonishing quietly to work
upon me by its presence.

I took small, but well-situated and pleasant, lodgings, on the north
side of the Fish-market, a fine, long street, where the everlasting
motion came to the assistance of every unoccupied moment. I then
delivered my letters of introduction, and found among my patrons a
merchant, who, with his family, was devoted to those pious opinions
sufficiently known to me, although, as far as regarded external worship,
he had not separated from the Church. He was a man of intelligence
withal, and by no means hypocritical in his conduct. The company of
boarders which was recommended to me, and, indeed, I to it, was very
agreeable and entertaining. A couple of old maids had long kept up this
boarding-house with regularity and good success: there might have been
about ten persons, older and younger. Of these latter, one named Meyer,
a native of Lindau, is most vividly present to my mind. From his form
and face he might have been considered one of the handsomest of men, if,
at the same time, he had not had something of the sloven in his whole
appearance. In like manner his splendid natural talents were marred by
an incredible levity, and his excellent temper by an unbounded
dissoluteness. He had an open, jovial face, rather more round than oval:
the organs of the senses, the eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, could be
called rich; they showed a decided fulness, without being too large. His
mouth was particularly charming, owing to his curling lips; and his
whole physiognomy had the peculiar expression of a rake, from the
circumstance that his eyebrows met across his nose, which, in a handsome
face, always produces a pleasant expression of sensuality. By his
jovialness, sincerity, and good nature, he made himself beloved by all.
His memory was incredible; attention at the lectures was no effort for
him; he retained all he heard, and was intellectual enough to take an
interest in every thing, and this the more easily, as he was studying
medicine. All his impressions remained vivid; and his waggery in
repeating the lectures and mimicking the professors often went so far,
that, when he had heard three different lectures in one morning, he
would, at the dinner-table, interchange the professors with each other,
paragraphwise, and often even more abruptly, which motley lecture
frequently entertained us, but often, too, became troublesome.

The rest were more or less polite, steady, serious people. A pensioned
knight of the order of St. Louis was one of these: but the majority were
students, all really good and well-disposed; only they were not allowed
to go beyond their usual allowance of wine. That this should not be
easily done was the care of our president, one Doctor Salzmann. Already
in the sixties and unmarried, he had attended this dinner-table for many
years, and maintained its good order and respectability. He possessed a
handsome property, kept himself close and neat in his exterior, even
belonging to those who always go in shoes and stockings, and with their
hat under their arm. To put on the hat was with him an extraordinary
action. He commonly carried an umbrella, wisely reflecting that the
finest summer-days often bring thunder-storms and passing showers over
the country.

With this man I talked over my design of continuing to study
jurisprudence at Strasburg, so as to be able to take my degree as soon
as possible. Since he was exactly informed of every thing, I asked him
about the lectures I should have to hear, and what he generally thought
of the matter. To this he replied, that it was not in Strasburg as in
the German universities, where they try to educate jurists in the large
and learned sense of the term. Here, in conformity with the relation
towards France, all was really directed to the practical, and managed in
accordance with the opinions of the French, who readily stop at what is
given. They tried to impart to every one certain general principles and
preliminary knowledge, they compressed as much as possible, and
communicated only what was most necessary. Hereupon he made me
acquainted with a man, in whom, as a /repetent/, [Footnote: A
repetent is one of a class of persons to be found in the German
universities, and who assist students in their studies. They are
somewhat analogous to the English tutors, but not precisely: for the
latter render their aid /before/ the recitation; while the repetent
/repeats/ with the student, in private, the lectures he has
previously heard from the professor. Hence his name, which might be
rendered /repeater/, had we any corresponding class of men in
England or America, which would justify an English word.--/American
Note/.] great confidence was entertained; which he very soon managed
to gain from me also. By way of introduction, I began to speak with him
on subjects of jurisprudence; and he wondered not a little at my
swaggering: for, during my residence at Leipzig, I had gained more of an
insight into the requisites for the law than I have hitherto taken
occasion to state in my narrative, though all I had acquired could only
be reckoned as a general encyclopedical survey, and not as proper
definite knowledge. University life, even if in the course of it we may
not exactly have to boast of industry, nevertheless affords endless
advantages in every kind of cultivation, because we are always
surrounded by men who either possess or are seeking science, so that,
even if unconsciously, we are constantly drawing some nourishment from
such an atmosphere.

My repetent, after he had had patience with my rambling discourse for
some time, gave me at last to understand that I must first of all keep
my immediate object in view, which was, to be examined, to take my
degree, and then, perchance, to commence practice. "Regarding the
former," said he, "the subject is by no means investigated at large. It
is inquired how and when a law arose, and what gave the internal or
external occasion for it: there is no inquiry as to how it has been
altered by time and custom, or how far it has perhaps been perverted by
false interpretation or the perverted usage of the courts. It is in such
investigations that learned men quite peculiarly spend their lives,
whereas we inquire into that which exists at present: this we stamp
firmly on our memory, that it may always be ready when we wish to employ
it for the use and defence of our clients. Thus we qualify our young
people for their future life, and the rest follows in proportion to
their talents and activity." Hereupon he handed me his pamphlets, which
were written in question and answer, and in which I could have stood a
pretty good examination at once; for Hopp's smaller law-catechism was
yet perfectly in my memory: the rest I supplied with some diligence,
and, against my will, qualified myself in the easiest manner as a
candidate.

But since in this way all my own activity in the study was cut off,--for
I had no sense for any thing positive, but wished to have every thing
explained historically, if not intelligibly,--I found for my powers a
wider field, which I employed in the most singular manner by devoting
myself to a matter of interest which was accidentally presented to me
from without.

Most of my fellow-boarders were medical students. These, as is well
known, are the only students who zealously converse about their science
and profession, even out of the hours of study. This lies in the nature
of the case. The objects of their endeavors are those most obvious to
the senses, and at the same time the highest, the most simple, and the
most complicated. Medicine employs the whole man, for it occupies itself
with man as a whole. All that the young man learns refers directly to an
important, dangerous indeed, but yet in many respects lucrative,
practice. He therefore devotes himself passionately to whatever is to be
known and to be done, partly because it is interesting in itself, partly
because it opens to him the joyous prospect of independence and wealth.

At table, then, I heard nothing but medical conversations, just as
formerly in the boarding-house of Hofrath Ludwig. In our walks and in
our pleasure-parties likewise not much else was talked about: for my
fellow-boarders, like good fellows, had also become my companions at
other times; and they were always joined on all sides by persons of like
minds and like studies. The medical faculty in general shone above the
others, with respect both to the celebrity of the professors and the
number of the students; and I was the more easily borne along by the
stream, as I had just so much knowledge of all these things that my
desire for science could soon be increased and inflamed. At the
commencement of the second half-year, therefore, I attended Spielmann's
course on chemistry, another on anatomy by Lobstein, and proposed to be
right industrious, because, by my singular preliminary or rather extra
knowledge, I had already gained some respect and confidence in our
society.

Yet this trifling and piecemeal way of study was even to be once more
seriously disturbed; for a remarkable political event set every thing in
motion, and procured us a tolerable succession of holidays. Marie
Antoinette, Archduchess of Austria and Queen of France, was to pass
through Strasburg on her road to Paris. The solemnities by which the
people are made to take notice that there is greatness in the world were
busily and abundantly prepared; and especially remarkable to me was the
building which stood on an island in the Rhine between the two bridges,
erected for her reception and for surrendering her into the hands of her
husband's ambassadors. It was but slightly raised above the ground; had
in the centre a grand saloon, on each side smaller ones; then followed
other chambers, which extended somewhat backward. In short, had it been
more durably built, it might have answered very well as a pleasure-house
for persons of rank. But that which particularly interested me, and for
which I did not grudge many a /büsel/ (a little silver coin then
current) in order to procure a repeated entrance from the porter, was
the embroidered tapestry with which they had lined the whole interior.
Here, for the first time, I saw a specimen of those tapestries worked
after Raffaelle's cartoons; and this sight was for me of very decided
influence, as I became acquainted with the true and the perfect on a
large scale, though only in copies. I went and came, and came and went,
and could not satiate myself with looking; nay, a vain endeavor troubled
me, because I would willingly have comprehended what interested me in so
extraordinary a manner. I found these side-chambers highly delightful
and refreshing, but the chief saloon so much the more shocking. This had
been hung with many larger, more brilliant and richer, hangings, which
were surrounded with crowded ornaments, worked after pictures by the
modern French.

Now, I might perhaps have become reconciled to this style also, as my
feelings, like my judgment, did not readily reject any thing entirely;
but the subject was excessively revolting to me. These pictures
contained the history of Jason, Medea, and Creusa, and therefore an
example of the most unhappy marriage. To the left of the throne was seen
the bride struggling with the most horrible death, surrounded by persons
full of sympathizing woe; to the right was the father, horrified at the
murdered babes before his feet; whilst the Fury, in her dragon-car,
drove along into the air. And, that the horrible and atrocious should
not lack something absurd, the white tail of that magic bull flourished
out on the right hand from behind the red velvet of the gold-embroidered
back of the throne; while the fire-spitting beast himself, and the Jason
who was fighting with him, were completely covered by the sumptuous
drapery.

Here all the maxims which I had made my own in Oeser's school were
stirring within my bosom. It was without proper selection and judgment,
to begin with, that Christ and the apostles were brought into the side-
halls of a nuptial building; and doubtless the size of the chambers had
guided the royal tapestry-keeper. This, however, I willingly forgave,
because it had turned out so much to my advantage; but a blunder like
that in the grand saloon put me altogether out of my self-possession,
and with animation and vehemence I called on my comrades to witness such
a crime against taste and feeling. "What!" cried I, without regarding
the by-standers, "is it permitted so thoughtlessly to place before the
eyes of a young queen, at her first setting foot in her dominions, the
representation of the most horrible marriage that perhaps ever was
consummated? Is there among the French architects, decorators,
upholsterers, not a single man who understands that pictures represent
something, that pictures work upon the mind and feelings, that they make
impressions, that they excite forebodings? It is just the same as if
they had sent the most ghastly spectre to meet this beauteous and
pleasure-loving lady at the very frontiers!" I know not what I said
besides: enough, my comrades tried to quiet me and to remove me out of
the house, that there might be no offence. They then assured me that it
was not everybody's concern to look for significance in pictures; that
to themselves, at least, nothing of the sort would have occurred; while
the whole population of Strasburg and the vicinity, which was to throng
thither, would no more take such crotchets into their heads than the
queen herself and her court.

I yet remember well the beauteous and lofty mien, as cheerful as it was
imposing, of this youthful lady. Perfectly visible to us all in her
glass carriage, she seemed to be jesting with her female attendants, in
familiar conversation, about the throng that poured forth to meet her
train. In the evening we roamed through the streets to look at the
various illuminated buildings, but especially the glowing spire of the
minster, with which, both near and in the distance, we could not
sufficiently feast our eyes.

The queen pursued her way: the country people dispersed, and the city
was soon quiet as ever. Before the queen's arrival, the very reasonable
regulation had been made, that no deformed persons, no cripples nor
disgusting invalids, should show themselves on her route. People joked
about this; and I made a little French poem in which I compared the
advent of Christ, who seemed to wander upon earth particularly on
account of the sick and the lame, with the arrival of the queen, who
scared these unfortunates away. My friends let it pass: a Frenchman, on
the contrary, who lived with us, criticised the language and metre very
unmercifully, although, as it seemed, with too much foundation; and I do
not remember that I ever made a French poem afterwards.

No sooner had the news of the queen's happy arrival rung from the
capital, than it was followed by the horrible intelligence, that, owing
to an oversight of the police during the festal fireworks, an infinite
number of persons, with horses and carriages, had been destroyed in a
street obstructed by building materials, and that the city, in the midst
of the nuptial solemnities, had been plunged into mourning and sorrow.
They attempted to conceal the extent of the misfortune, both from the
young royal pair and from the world, by burying the dead in secret; so
that many families were convinced only by the ceaseless absence of their
members that they, too, had been swept off by this awful event. That, on
this occasion, those ghastly figures in the grand saloon again came
vividly before my mind, I need scarcely mention; for every one knows how
powerful certain moral impressions are when they embody themselves, as
it were, in those of the senses.

This occurrence was, however, destined moreover to place my friends in
anxiety and trouble by means of a prank in which I indulged. Among us
young people who had been at Leipzig, there had been maintained ever
afterwards a certain itch for imposing on and in some way mystifying one
another. With this wanton love of mischief I wrote to a friend in
Frankfort (he was the one who had amplified my poem on the cake-baker
Hendel, applied it to /Medon/, and caused its general circulation)
a letter dated from Versailles, in which I informed him of my happy
arrival there, my participation in the solemnities, and other things of
the kind, but at the same time enjoined the strictest secrecy. I must
here remark, that, from the time of that trick which had caused us so
much annoyance, our little Leipzig society had accustomed itself to
persecute him from time to time with mystifications, and this especially
as he was the drollest man in the world, and was never more amiable than
when he was discovering the cheat into which he had deliberately been
led. Shortly after I had written this letter, I went on a little
journey, and remained absent about a fortnight. Meanwhile the news of
that disaster had reached Frankfort: my friend believed me in Paris, and
his affection led him to apprehend that I might have been involved in
the calamity. He inquired of any parents and other persons to whom I was
accustomed to write, whether any letters had arrived; and, as it was
just at the time when my journey kept me from sending any, they were
altogether wanting. He went about in the greatest uneasiness, and at
last told the matter in confidence to our nearest friends, who were now
in equal anxiety. Fortunately this conjecture did not reach my parents
until a letter had arrived announcing my return to Strasburg. My young
friends were satisfied to learn that I was alive, but remained firmly
convinced that I had been at Paris in the interim. The affectionate
intelligence of the solicitude they had felt on my account affected me
so much that I vowed to leave off such tricks forever; but,
unfortunately, I have often since allowed myself to be guilty of
something similar. Real life frequently loses its brilliancy to such a
degree, that one is many a time forced to polish it up again with the
varnish of fiction.

This mighty stream of courtly magnificence had now flowed by, and had
left in me no other longing than after those tapestries of Raffaelle,
which I would willingly have gazed at, revered, nay, adored, every day
and every hour. Fortunately, my passionate endeavors succeeded in
interesting several persons of consequence in them, so that they were
taken down and packed up as late as possible. We now gave ourselves up
again to our quiet, easy routine of the university and society; and in
the latter the Actuary Salzmann, president of our table, continued to be
the general pedagogue. His intelligence, complaisance, and dignity,
which he always contrived to maintain amid all the jests, and often even
in the little extravagances, which he allowed us, made him beloved and
respected by the whole company; and I could mention but few instances
where he showed his serious displeasure, or interposed with authority in
little quarrels and disputes. Yet among them all I was the one who most
attached myself to him; and he was not less inclined to converse with
me, as he found me more variously accomplished than the others, and not
so one-sided in judgment. I also followed his directions in external
matters; so that he could, without hesitation, publicly acknowledge me
as his companion and comrade: for, although he only filled an office
which seems to be of little influence, he administered it in a manner
which redounded to his highest honor. He was actuary to the Court of
Wards (/Pupillen-Collegium/); and there, indeed, like the perpetual
secretary of a university, he had, properly speaking, the management of
affairs in his own hands. Now, as he had performed the duties of this
office with the greatest exactness for many years, there was no family,
from the first to the last, which did not owe him its gratitude; as
indeed scarcely any one in the whole administration of government can
earn more blessings or more curses than one who takes charge of the
orphans, or, on the contrary, squanders or suffers to be squandered
their property and goods.

The Strasburgers are passionate walkers, and they have a good right to
be so. Let one turn his steps as he will, he will find pleasure-grounds,
partly natural, partly adorned by art in ancient and modern times, all
of them visited and enjoyed by a cheerful, merry little people. But what
made the sight of a great number of pedestrians still more agreeable
here than in other places, was the various costume of the fair sex. The
middle class of city girls yet retained the hair twisted up and secured
by a large pin, as well as a certain close style of dress, in which any
thing like a train would have been unbecoming: and the pleasant part of
it was, that this costume did not differ violently according to the rank
of the wearer; for there were still some families of opulence and
distinction who would not permit their daughters to deviate from this
costume. The rest followed the French fashion, and this party made some
proselytes every year. Salzmann had many acquaintances and an entrance
everywhere: a very pleasant circumstance for his companion, especially
in summer, for good company and refreshment were found in all the public
gardens far and near, and more than one invitation for this or that
pleasant day was received. On one such occasion I found an opportunity
to recommend myself very rapidly to a family which I was visiting for
only the second time. We were invited, and arrived at the appointed
hour. The company was not large: some played and some walked as usual.
Afterwards, when they were to go to supper, I saw our hostess and her
sister speaking to each other with animation, and as if in a peculiar
embarrassment. I accosted them, and said, "I have indeed no right,
ladies, to force myself into your secrets; but perhaps I may be able to
give you good counsel, or even to serve you." Upon this they disclosed
to me their painful dilemma; namely, that they had invited twelve
persons to table, and that just at that moment a relation had returned
from a journey, who now, as the thirteenth, would be a fatal /memento
mori/, if not for himself, yet certainly for some of the guests. "The
case is very easily mended," replied I: "permit me to take my leave, and
stipulate for indemnification." As they were persons of consequence and
good breeding, they would by no means allow this, but sent about in the
neighborhood to find a fourteenth. I suffered them to do so; yet when I
saw the servant coming in at the garden-gate without having effected his
errand, I stole away and spent my evening pleasantly under the old
linden-trees of the Wanzenau. That this self-denial was richly repaid me
was a very natural consequence.

A certain kind of general society is not to be thought of without card-
playing. Salzmann renewed the good instructions of Madame Böhme; and I
was the more docile as I had really seen, that by this little sacrifice,
if it be one, one may procure one's self much pleasure, and even a
greater freedom in society than one would otherwise enjoy. The old
piquet, which had gone to sleep, was again looked out; I learned whist;
I made myself, according to the directions of my Mentor, a card-purse,
which was to remain untouched under all circumstances; and I now found
opportunity to spend most of my evenings with my friend in the best
circles, where, for the most part, they wished me well, and pardoned
many a little irregularity, to which, nevertheless, my friend, though
kindly enough, used to call my attention.

But that I might experience symbolically how much one, even in
externals, has to adapt one's self to society, and direct one's self
according to it, I was compelled to something which seemed to me the
most disagreeable thing in the world. I had really very fine hair; but
my Strasburg hair-dresser at once assured me that it was cut much too
short behind, and that it would be impossible to make a /frizure/
of it in which I could show myself, since nothing but a few short curls
in front were decreed lawful; and all the rest, from the crown, must be
tied up in a cue or a hair-bag. Nothing was left but to put up with
false hair till the natural growth was again restored according to the
demands of the time. He promised me that nobody should ever remark this
innocent deception (against which I objected at first very earnestly),
if I could resolve upon it immediately. He kept his word, and I was
always looked upon as the young man who had the best and the best-
dressed head of hair. But as I was obliged to remain thus propped up and
powdered from early morning, and at the same time to take care not to
betray my false ornament by heating myself or by violent motions, this
restraint in fact contributed much to my behaving for a time more
quietly and politely, and accustomed me to going with my hat under my
arm, and consequently in shoes and stockings also; however I did not
venture to neglect wearing understockings of fine leather, as a defence
against the Rhine gnats, which, on the fine summer evenings, generally
spread themselves over the meadows and gardens. Under these
circumstances, violent bodily motion being denied me, our social
conversations grew more and more animated and impassioned; indeed, they
were the most interesting in which I had hitherto ever borne part.

With my way of feeling and thinking, it cost me nothing to let every one
pass for what he was,--nay, for that which he wished to pass for; and
thus the frankness of a fresh, youthful heart, which manifested itself
almost for the first time in its full bloom, made me many friends and
adherents. Our company of boarders increased to about twenty persons;
and, as Salzmann kept up his accustomed order, every thing continued in
its old routine,--nay, the conversation was almost more decorous, as
every one had to be on his guard before several. Among the new-comers
was a man who particularly interested me: his name was Jung, the same
who afterwards became known under the name of Stilling. In spite of an
antiquated dress, his form had something delicate about it, with a
certain sturdiness. A bag-wig did not disfigure his significant and
pleasing countenance. His voice was mild, without being soft and weak:
it became even melodious and powerful as soon as his ardor was roused,
which was very easily done. On becoming better acquainted with him, one
found in him a sound common sense, which rested on feeling, and
therefore took its tone from the affections and passions; and from this
very feeling sprang an enthusiasm for the good, the true, and the just,
in the greatest possible purity. For the course of this man's life had
been very simple, and yet crowded with events and with manifold
activity. The element of his energy was indestructible faith in God, and
in an assistance flowing immediately from him, which evidently
manifested itself in an uninterrupted providence, and in an unfailing
deliverance out of all troubles and from every evil. Jung had made many
such experiences in his life, and they had often been repeated of late
in Strasburg: so that, with the greatest cheerfulness, he led a life
frugal indeed, but free from care, and devoted himself most earnestly to
his studies; although he could not reckon upon any certain subsistence
from one quarter to another. In his youth, when on a fair way to become
a charcoal-burner, he took up the trade of a tailor; and after he had
instructed himself, at the same time, in higher matters, his knowledge-
loving mind drove him to the occupation of schoolmaster. This attempt
failed; and he returned to his trade, from which, however, since every
one felt for him confidence and affection, he was repeatedly called
away, again to take a place as private tutor. But for his most internal
and peculiar training he had to thank that wide-spread class of men who
sought out their salvation on their own responsibility, and who, while
they strove to edify themselves by reading the Scriptures and good
books, and by mutual exhortation and confession, thereby attained a
degree of cultivation which must excite surprise. For while the interest
which always accompanied them and which maintained them in fellowship
rested on the simplest foundation of morality, well-wishing and well-
doing, the deviations which could take place with men of such limited
circumstances were of little importance; and hence their consciences,
for the most part, remained clear, and their minds commonly cheerful: so
there arose no artificial, but a truly natural, culture, which yet had
this advantage over others, that it was suitable to all ages and ranks,
and was generally social by its nature. For this reason, too, these
persons were, in their own circle, truly eloquent, and capable of
expressing themselves appropriately and pleasingly on all the tenderest
and best concerns of the heart. Now, good Jung was in this very case.
Among a few persons, who, if not exactly like-minded with himself, did
not declare themselves averse from his mode of thought, he was found,
not only talkative but eloquent: in particular, he related the history
of his life in the most delightful manner, and knew how to make all the
circumstances plainly and vividly present to his listeners. I persuaded
him to write them down, and he promised to do so. But because, in his
way of expressing himself, he was like a somnambulist, who must not be
called by name lest he should fall from his elevation, or like a gentle
stream, to which one dare oppose nothing lest it should foam, he was
often constrained to feel uncomfortable in a more numerous company. His
faith tolerated no doubt, and his conviction no jest. "While in friendly
communication he was inexhaustible, every thing came to a standstill
with him when he met with contradiction. I usually helped him through on
such occasions, for which he repaid me with honest affection. Since his
mode of thought was nothing strange to me, but on the contrary I had
already become accurately acquainted with it in my very best friends of
both sexes; and since, moreover, it generally interested me with its
naturalness and /naïveté/,--he found himself on the very best terms
with me. The bent of his intellect was pleasing to me; nor did I meddle
with his faith in miracles, which was so useful to him. Salzmann
likewise behaved towards him with forbearance,--I say with forbearance,
for Salzmann, in conformity with his character, his natural disposition,
his age arid circumstances, could not but stand and continue on the side
of the rational, or rather the common-sense, Christians, whose religion
properly rested on the rectitude of their characters, and a manly
independence, and who therefore did not like to meddle or have any thing
to do with feelings which might easily have led them into gloom, or with
mysticism, which might easily have led them into the dark. This class,
too, was respectable and numerous: all men of honor and capacity
understood each other, and were of the like persuasion, as well as of
the same mode of life. Lerse, likewise our fellow-boarder, also belonged
to this number: a perfectly upright young man, and, with limited gifts
of fortune, frugal and exact. His manner of life and housekeeping was
the closest I ever knew among students. He was, of us all, the most
neatly dressed, and yet always appeared in the same clothes; but he
managed his wardrobe with the greatest care, kept every thing about him
clean, and required all things in ordinary life to go according to his
example. He never happened to lean anywhere, or to prop his elbow on the
table; he never forgot to mark his table-napkin; and the maid always had
a bad time of it when the chairs were not found perfectly clean. With
all this, he had nothing stiff in his exterior. He spoke cordially, with
precise and dry liveliness, in which a light ironical joke was very
becoming. In figure he was well built, slender, and of fair height: his
face was pock-pitted and homely, his little blue eyes cheerful and
penetrating. As he had cause to tutor us in so many respects, we let him
be our fencing-master besides, for he drew a very fine rapier; and it
seemed to give him sport to play off upon us, on this occasion, all the
pedantry of this profession. Moreover, we really profited by him, and
had to thank him for many sociable hours, which he induced us to spend
in good exercise and practice.

By all these peculiarities, Lerse completely qualified himself for the
office of arbitrator and umpire in all the small and great quarrels
which happened, though but rarely, in our circle, and which Salzmann
could not hush up in his fatherly way. Without the external forms, which
do so much mischief in universities, we represented a society bound
together by circumstances and good feeling, which others might
occasionally touch, but into which they could not intrude. Now, in his
judgment of internal piques, Lerse always showed the greatest
impartiality; and, when the affair could no longer be settled by words
and explanations, he knew how to conduct the desired satisfaction, in an
honorable way, to a harmless issue. In this no man was more clever than
he: indeed, he often used to say, that since heaven had destined him for
a hero neither in war nor in love, he would be content, both in romances
and fighting, with the part of second. Since he remained the same
throughout, and might be regarded as a true model of a good and steady
disposition, the conception of him stamped itself as deeply as amiably
upon me; and, when I wrote "Götz von Berlichingen," I felt myself
induced to set up a memorial of our friendship, and to give the gallant
fellow, who knew how to subordinate himself in so dignified a manner,
the name of Franz Lerse.

While, by his constant humorous dryness, he continued ever to remind us
of what one owed to one's self and to others, and how one ought to
behave in order to live at peace with men as long as possible, and thus
gain a certain position towards them, I had to fight, both inwardly and
outwardly, with quite different circumstances and adversaries, being at
strife with myself, with the objects around me, and even with the
elements. I was then in a state of health which furthered me
sufficiently in all that I would and should undertake; only there was a
certain irritability left behind, which did not always let me be in
equilibrium. A loud sound was disagreeable to me, diseased objects
awakened in me loathing and horror. But I was especially troubled with a
giddiness which came over me every time I looked down from a height. All
these infirmities I tried to remedy, and, indeed, as I wished to lose no
time, in a somewhat violent way. In the evening, when they beat the
tattoo, I went near the multitude of drums, the powerful rolling and
beating of which might have made one's heart burst in one's bosom. All
alone I ascended the highest pinnacle of the minster spire, and sat in
what is called the neck, under the nob or crown, for a quarter of an
hour, before I would venture to step out again into the open air, where,
standing upon a platform scarce an ell square, without any particular
holding, one sees the boundless prospect before; while the nearest
objects and ornaments conceal the church, and every thing upon and above
which one stands. It is exactly as if one saw one's self carried up into
the air in a balloon. Such troublesome and painful sensations I repeated
until the impression became quite indifferent to me; and I have since
then derived great advantage from this training, in mountain travels and
geological studies, and on great buildings, where I have vied with the
carpenters in running over the bare beams and the cornices of the
edifice, and even in Rome, where one must run similar risks to obtain a
nearer view of important works of art. Anatomy, also, was of double
value to me, as it taught me to endure the most repulsive sights, while
I satisfied my thirst for knowledge. And thus I also attended the
clinical course of the elder Dr. Ehrmann, as well as the lectures of his
son on obstetrics, with the double view of becoming acquainted with all
conditions, and of freeing myself from all apprehension as to repulsive
things. And I have actually succeeded so far, that nothing of this kind
could ever put me out of my self-possession. But I endeavored to harden
myself, not only against these impressions on the senses, but also
against the infections of the imagination. The awful and shuddering
impressions of the darkness in churchyards, solitary places, churches,
and chapels by night, and whatever may be connected with them, I
contrived to render likewise indifferent; and in this, also, I went so
far that day and night, and every locality, were quite the same to me:
so that even when, in later times, a desire came over me once more to
feel in such scenes the pleasing shudder of youth, I could hardly compel
this, in any degree, by calling up the strangest and most fearful
images.

In my efforts to free myself from the pressure of the too gloomy and
powerful, which continued to rule within me, and seemed to me sometimes
as strength, sometimes as weakness, I was thoroughly assisted by that
open, social, stirring manner of life, which attracted me more and more,
to which I accustomed myself, and which I at last learned to enjoy with
perfect freedom. It is not difficult to remark in the world, that man
feels himself most freely and most perfectly rid of his own feelings
when he represents to himself the faults of others, and expatiates upon
them with complacent censoriousness. It is a tolerably pleasant
sensation even to set ourselves above our equals by disapprobation and
misrepresentation; for which reason good society, whether it consists of
few or many, is most delighted with it. But nothing equals the
comfortable self-complacency, when we erect ourselves into judges of our
superiors, and of those who are set over us,--of princes and statesmen,
--when we find public institutions unfit and injudicious, only consider
the possible and actual obstacles, and recognize neither the greatness
of the invention, nor the co-operation which is to be expected from time
and circumstances in every undertaking.

Whoever remembers the condition of the French kingdom, and is accurately
and circumstantially acquainted with it from later writings, will easily
figure to himself how, at that time, in the Alsatian semi-France, people
used to talk about the king and his ministers, about the court and
court-favorites. These were new subjects for my love of instructing
myself, and very welcome ones to my pertness and youthful conceit. I
observed every thing accurately, noted it down industriously; and I now
see, from the little that is left, that such accounts, although only put
together on the moment, out of fables and uncertain general rumors,
always have a certain value in after-times, because they serve to
confront and compare the secret made known at last with what was then
already discovered and public, and the judgments of contemporaries, true
or false, with the convictions of posterity.

Striking, and daily before the eyes of us street-loungers, was the
project for beautifying the city; the execution of which according to
draughts and plans, began in the strangest fashion to pass from sketches
and plans into reality. Intendant Gayot had undertaken to new-model the
angular and uneven lanes of Strasburg, and to lay the foundations of a
respectable, handsome city, regulated by line and level. Upon this,
Blondel, a Parisian architect, drew a plan, by which an hundred and
forty householders gained in room, eighty lost, and the rest remained in
their former condition. This plan accepted, but not to be put into
execution at once, now, should in course of time have been approaching
completion; and, meanwhile, the city oddly enough wavered between form
and formlessness. If, for instance, a crooked side of a street was to be
straightened, the first man who felt disposed to build moved forward to
the appointed line, perhaps, too, his next neighbor, but perhaps, also,
the third or fourth resident from him; by which projections the most
awkward recesses were left, like front court-yards, before the houses in
the background. They would not use force, yet without compulsion they
would never have got on: on which account no man, when his house was
once condemned, ventured to improve or replace any thing that related to
the street. All these strange accidental inconveniences gave to us
rambling idlers the most welcome opportunity of practising our ridicule;
of making proposals, in the manner of Behrisch, for accelerating the
completion, and of constantly doubting the possibility of it, although
many a newly erected handsome building should have brought us to other
thoughts. How far that project was advanced by the length of time, I
cannot say.

Another subject on which the Protestant Strasburgers liked to converse
was the expulsion of the Jesuits. These fathers, as soon as the city had
fallen to the share of the French, had made their appearance and sought
a /domicilium/. But they soon extended themselves and built a
magnificent college, which bordered so closely on the minster that the
back of the church covered a third part of its front. It was to be a
complete quadrangle, and have a garden in the middle: three sides of it
were finished. It is of stone, and solid, like all the buildings of
these fathers. That the Protestants were pushed hard, if not oppressed
by them, lay in the plan of the society which made it a duty to restore
the old religion in its whole compass. Their fall, therefore, awakened
the greatest satisfaction in the opposite party; and people saw, not
without pleasure, how they sold their wines, carried away their books:
and the building was assigned to another, perhaps less active, order.
How glad are men when they get rid of an opponent, or only of a
guardian! and the herd does not reflect, that, where there is no dog, it
is exposed to wolves.

Now, since every city must have its tragedy, at which children and
children's children shudder; so in Strasburg frequent mention was made
of the unfortunate Praetor Klingling, who, after he had mounted the
highest step of earthly felicity, ruled city and country with almost
absolute power, and enjoyed all that wealth, rank, and influence could
afford, had at last lost the favor of the court, and was dragged up to
answer for all in which he had been indulged hitherto,--nay, was even
thrown into prison, where, more than seventy years old, he died an
ambiguous death.

This and other tales, that knight of St. Louis, our fellow-boarder, knew
how to tell with passion and animation; for which reason I was fond of
accompanying him in his walks, unlike the others, who avoided such
invitations, and left me alone with him. As with new acquaintances I
generally took my ease for a long time without thinking much about them
or the effect which they were exercising upon me, so I only remarked
gradually that his stories and opinions rather unsettled and confused
than instructed and enlightened me. I never knew what to make of him,
although the riddle might easily have been solved. He belonged to the
many to whom life offers no results, and who, therefore, from first to
last, exert themselves on individual objects. Unfortunately he had with
this a decided desire, nay, even passion, for meditating, without having
any capacity for thinking; and in such men a particular notion easily
fixes itself fast, which may be regarded as a mental disease. To such a
fixed view he always came back again, and was thus in the long run
excessively tiresome. He would bitterly complain of the decline of his
memory, especially with regard to the latest events, and maintained, by
a logic of his own, that all virtue springs from a good memory, and all
vice, on the contrary, from forgetfulness. This doctrine he contrived to
carry out with much acuteness; as, indeed, any thing may be maintained
when one has no compunction to use words altogether vaguely, and to
employ and apply them in a sense now wider, now narrower, now closer,
now more remote.

At first it was amusing to hear him; nay, his persuasiveness even
astonished us. We fancied we were standing before a rhetorical sophist,
who for jest and practice knew how to give a fair appearance to the
strangest things. Unfortunately this first impression became blunted but
too soon; for at the end of every discourse, manage the thing as I
would, the man came back again to the same theme. He was not to be held
fast to older events, although they interested him,--although he had
them present to his mind with their minutest circumstances. Indeed, he
was often, by a small circumstance, snatched out of the middle of a wild
historical narrative, and thrust into his detestable favorite thought.

One of our afternoon walks was particularly unfortunate in this respect:
the account of it may stand here instead of similar cases, which might
weary if not vex the reader.

On the way through the city we were met by an old female mendicant, who,
by her beggings and importunities, disturbed him in his story. "Pack
yourself off, old witch!" said he, and walked by. She shouted after him
the well-known retort,--only somewhat changed, since she saw well that
the unfriendly man was old himself,--"If you did not wish to be old, you
should have had yourself hanged in your youth!" He turned round
violently, and I feared a scene. "Hanged cried he, "have myself hanged!
No: that could not have been,--I was too honest a fellow for that; but
hang myself--hang up my own self--that is true--that I should have done:
I should have turned a charge of powder against myself, that I might not
live to see that I am not even worth that any more." The woman stood as
if petrified; but he continued, "You have said a great truth, witch-
mother; and, as they have neither drowned nor burned you yet, you shall
be paid for your proverb." He handed her a /büsel/, a coin not
usually given to a beggar.

We had crossed over the first Rhine-bridge, and were going to the inn
where we meant to stop; and I was trying to lead him back to our
previous conversation, when, unexpectedly, a very pretty girl met us on
the pleasant foot-path, remained standing before us, bowed prettily, and
cried, "Eh, eh, captain, where are you going?" and, whatever else is
usually said on such an occasion. "Mademoiselle," replied he, somewhat
embarrassed, "I know not"--"How?" said she, with graceful astonishment,
"do you forget your friends so soon?" The word "forget" fretted him: he
shook his head and replied, peevishly enough, "Truly, mademoiselle, I
did not know!"--She now retorted with some humor, yet very temperately,
"Take care, captain: I may mistake you another time!" And so she hurried
past, taking huge strides, without looking round. At once my fellow-
traveller struck his forehead with both his fists: "Oh, what an ass I
am!" exclaimed he, "what an old ass I am! Now, you see whether I am
right or not." And then, in a very violent manner, he went on with his
usual sayings and opinions, in which this case still more confirmed him.
I can not and would not repeat what a philippic discourse he held
against himself. At last he turned to me, and said, "I call you to
witness! You remember that small-ware woman at the corner, who is
neither young nor pretty? I salute her every time we pass, and often
exchange a couple of friendly words with her; and yet it is thirty years
ago since she was gracious to me. But now I swear it is not four weeks
since this young lady showed herself more complaisant to me than was
reasonable; and yet I will not recognize her, but insult her in return
for her favors! Do I not always say, that ingratitude is the greatest of
vices, and no man would be ungrateful if he were not forgetful?"

We went into the inn; and nothing but the tippling, swarming crowd in
the ante-rooms stopped the invectives which he rattled off against
himself and his contemporaries. He was silent, and I hoped pacified,
when we stepped into an upper chamber, where we found a young man pacing
up and down alone, whom the captain saluted by name. I was pleased to
become acquainted with him; for the old fellow had said much good of him
to me, and had told me that this young man, being employed in the war-
bureau, had often disinterestedly done him very good service when the
pensions were stopped. I was glad that the conversation took a general
turn; and, while we were carrying it on, we drank a bottle of wine. But
here, unluckily, another infirmity which my knight had in common with
obstinate men developed itself. For as, on the whole, he could not get
rid of that fixed notion; so did he stick fast to a disagreeable
impression of the moment, and suffer his feelings to run on without
moderation. His last vexation about himself had not yet died away; and
now was added something new, although of quite a different kind. He had
not long cast his eyes here and there before he noticed on the table a
double portion of coffee, and two cups, and might besides, being a man
of gallantry, have traced some other indication that the young man had
not been so solitary all the time. And scarcely had the conjecture
arisen in his mind, and ripened into a probability, that the pretty girl
had been paying a visit here, than the most outrageous jealousy added
itself to that first vexation, so as completely to perplex him.

Now, before I could suspect any thing,--for I had hitherto been
conversing quite harmlessly with the young man,--the captain, in an
unpleasant tone, which I well knew, began to be satirical about the pair
of cups, and about this and that. The young man, surprised, tried to
turn it off pleasantly and sensibly, as is the custom among men of good
breeding: but the old fellow continued to be unmercifully rude; so that
there was nothing left for the other to do but to seize his hat and
cane, and at his departure to leave behind him a pretty unequivocal
challenge. The fury of the captain now burst out the more vehemently, as
he had in the interim drunk another bottle of wine almost by himself. He
struck the table with his fist, and cried more than once, "I will strike
him dead!" It was not, however, meant quite so badly as it sounded; for
he often used this phrase when any one opposed or otherwise displeased
him. Just as unexpectedly the business grew worse on our return; for I
had the want of foresight to represent to him his ingratitude towards
the young man, and to remind him how strongly he had praised to me the
ready obligingness of this official person. No! such rage of a man
against himself I never saw again: it was the most passionate conclusion
to that beginning to which the pretty girl had given occasion. Here I
saw sorrow and repentance carried into caricature, and, as all passion
supplies the place of genius, to a point really genius-like. He then
went over all the incidents of our afternoon ramble again, employed them
rhetorically for his own self-reproach, brought up the old witch at last
before him once more, and perplexed himself to such a degree, that I
could not help fearing he would throw himself into the Rhine. Could I
have been sure of fishing him out again quickly, like Mentor his
Telemachus, he might have made the leap; and I should have brought him
home cooled down for this occasion.

I immediately confided the affair to Lerse; and we went the next morning
to the young man, whom my friend in his dry way set laughing. We agreed
to bring about an accidental meeting, where a reconciliation should take
place of itself. The drollest thing about it was, that this time the
captain, too, had slept off his rudeness, and found himself ready to
apologize to the young man, to whom petty quarrels were of some
consequence. All was arranged in one morning; and, as the affair had not
been kept quite secret, I did not escape the jokes of my friends, who
might have foretold me, from their own experience, how troublesome the
friendship of the captain could become upon occasion.

But now, while I am thinking what should be imparted next, there comes
again into my thoughts, by a strange play of memory, that reverend
minster-building, to which in those days I devoted particular attention,
and which, in general, constantly presents itself to the eye, both in
the city and in the country.

The more I considered the /façade/, the more was that first
impression strengthened and developed, that here the sublime has entered
into alliance with the pleasing. If the vast, when it appears as a mass
before us, is not to terrify; if it is not to confuse, when we seek to
investigate its details,--it must enter into an unnatural, apparently
impossible, connection, it must associate to itself the pleasing. But
now, since it will be impossible for us to speak of the impression of
the minster except by considering both these incompatible qualities as
united, so do we already see, from this, in what high value we must hold
this ancient monument; and we begin in earnest to describe how such
contradictory elements could peaceably interpenetrate and unite
themselves.

First of all, without thinking of the towers, we devote out
considerations to the /façade/ alone, which powerfully strikes the
eye as an upright, oblong parallelogram. If we approach it at twilight,
in the moonshine, on a starlight night, when the parts appear more or
less indistinct and at last disappear, we see only a colossal wall, the
height of which bears an advantageous proportion to the breadth. If we
view it by day, and by the power of the mind abstract from the details,
we recognize the front of a building which not only encloses the space
within, but also covers much in its vicinity. The openings of this
monstrous surface point to internal necessities, and according to these
we can at once divide it into nine compartments. The great middle door,
which opens into the nave of the church, first meets the eye. On both
sides of it lie two smaller ones, belonging to the cross-ways. Over the
chief door our glance falls upon the wheel-shaped window, which is to
spread an awe-inspiring light within the church and its vaulted arches.
At its sides appear two large, perpendicular, oblong openings, which
form a striking contrast with the middle one, and indicate that they
belong to the base of the rising towers. In the third story are three
openings in a row, which are designed for belfries and other church
necessities. Above them one sees the whole horizontally closed by the
balustrade of the gallery, instead of a cornice. These nine spaces
described are supported, enclosed, and separated into three great
perpendicular divisions by four pillars rising up from the ground.

Now, as it cannot be denied that there is in the whole mass a fine
proportion of height to breadth, so also in the details it maintains a
somewhat uniform lightness by means of these pillars and the narrow
compartments between them.

But if we adhere to our abstraction, and imagine to ourselves this
immense wall without ornaments, with firm buttresses, with the necessary
openings in it, but only so far as necessity requires them, we even then
must allow that these chief divisions are in good proportion: thus the
whole will appear solemn and noble indeed, but always heavily
unpleasant, and, being without ornament, unartistical. For a work of
art, the whole of which is conceived in great, simple, harmonious parts,
makes indeed a noble and dignified impression; but the peculiar
enjoyment which the pleasing produces can only find place in the
consonance of all developed details.

And it is precisely here that the building we are examining satisfies us
in the highest degree, for we see all the ornaments fully suited to
every part which they adorn: they are subordinate to it, they seem to
have grown out of it. Such a manifoldness always gives great pleasure,
since it flows of its own accord from the suitable, and therefore at the
same time awakens the feeling of unity. It is only in such cases that
the execution is prized as the summit of art.

By such means, now, was a solid piece of masonry, an impenetrable wall,
which had moreover to announce itself as the base of two heaven-high
towers, made to appear to the eye as if resting on itself, consisting in
itself, but at the same time light and adorned, and, though pierced
through in a thousand places, to give the idea of indestructible
firmness.

This riddle is solved in the happiest manner. The openings in the wall,
its solid parts, the pillars, every thing has its peculiar character,
which proceeds from its particular destination: this communicates itself
by degrees to the subdivisions; hence every thing is adorned in
proportionate taste, the great as well as the small is in the right
place, and can be easily comprehended, and thus the pleasing presents
itself in the vast. I would refer only to the doors sinking in
perspective into the thickness of the wall, and adorned without end in
their columns and pointed arches; to the window with its rose springing
out of the round form; to the outline of its framework, as well as to
the slender reed-like pillars of the perpendicular compartments. Let one
represent to himself the pillars retreating step by step, accompanied by
little, slender, light-pillared, pointed structures, likewise striving
upwards, and furnished with canopies to shelter the images of the
saints, and how at last every rib, every boss, seems like a flower-head
and row of leaves, or some other natural object transformed into stone.
One may compare, if not the building itself, yet representations of the
whole and of its parts, for the purpose of reviewing and giving life to
what I have said. It may seem exaggerated to many; for I myself, though
transported into love for this work at first sight, required a long time
to make myself intimately acquainted with its value.

Having grown up among those who found fault with Gothic architecture, I
cherished my aversion from the abundantly overloaded, complicated
ornaments which, by their capriciousness, made a religious, gloomy
character highly adverse. I strengthened myself in this repugnance,
since I had only met with spiritless works of this kind, in which one
could perceive neither good proportions nor a pure consistency. But here
I thought I saw a new revelation of it, since what was objectionable by
no means appeared, but the contrary opinion rather forced itself upon my
mind.

But the longer I looked and considered, I all the while thought I
discovered yet greater merits beyond that which I have already
mentioned. The right proportion of the larger divisions, the ornamental,
as judicious as rich, even to the minutest, were found out; but now I
recognized the connection of these manifold ornaments amongst each
other, the transition from one leading part to another, the enclosing of
details, homogeneous indeed, but yet greatly varying in form, from the
saint to the monster, from the leaf to the dental. The more I
investigated, the more I was astonished; the more I amused and wearied
myself with measuring and drawing, so much the more did my attachment
increase, so that I spent much time, partly in studying what actually
existed, partly in restoring, in my mind and on paper, what was wanting
and unfinished, especially in the towers.

Finding that this building had been based on old German ground, and
grown thus far in genuine German times, and that the name of the master,
on his modest gravestone, was likewise of native sound and origin, I
ventured, being incited by the worth of this work of art, to change the
hitherto decried appellation of "Gothic architecture," and to claim it
for our nation as "German architecture;" nor did I fail to bring my
patriotic views to light, first orally, and afterwards in a little
treatise dedicated to the memory of Ervinus a Steinbach.

If my biographical narrative should come down to the epoch when the said
sheet appeared in print, which Herder afterwards inserted in his
pamphlet, "Von Deutscher Art und Kunst" ("Of German Manner and Art"),
much more will be said on this weighty subject. But, before I turn from
it this time, I will take the opportunity to vindicate the motto
prefixed to the present volume with those who may have entertained some
doubt about it. I know indeed very well, that in opposition to this
honest, hopeful old German saying, "Of whatever one wishes in youth, he
has abundance in old age," many would quote contrary experience, and
many trifling comments might be made; but much, also, is to be said in
its favor: and I will explain how I understand it.

Our wishes are presentiments of the capabilities which lie within us,
and harbingers of that which we shall be in a condition to perform.
Whatever we are able and would like to do, presents itself to our
imagination, as without us and in the future. We feel a longing after
that which we already possess in secret. Thus a passionate anticipating
grasp changes the truly possible into a dreamed reality. Now, if such a
bias lies decidedly in our nature, then, with every step of our
development will a part of the first wish be fulfilled,--under favorable
circumstances in the direct way, under unfavorable in the circuitous
way, from which we always come back again to the other. Thus we see men
by perseverance attain to earthly wealth. They surround themselves with
riches, splendor, and external honor. Others strive yet more certainly
after intellectual advantages, acquire for themselves a clear survey of
things, a peacefulness of mind, and a certainty for the present and the
future.

But now there is a third direction, which is compounded of both, and the
issue of which must be the most surely successful. When a man's youth
falls into a pregnant time; when production overweighs destruction, and
a presentiment is early awakened within him as to what such an epoch
demands and promises,--he will then, being forced by outward inducements
into an active interest, take hold now here, now there, and the wish to
be active on many sides will be lively within him. But so many
accidental hinderances are associated with human limitation, that here a
thing, once begun, remains unfinished: there that which is already
grasped falls out of the hand, and one wish after another is dissipated.
But had these wishes sprung out of a pure heart, and in conformity with
the necessities of the times, one might composedly let them lie and fall
right and left, and be assured that these must not only be found out and
picked up again, but that also many kindred things, which one has never
touched and never even thought of, will come to light. If, now, during
our own lifetime, we see that performed by others, for which we
ourselves felt an earlier call, but had been obliged to give it up, with
much besides, then the beautiful feeling enters the mind that only
mankind combined is the true man, and that the individual can only be
joyous and happy when he has the courage to feel himself in the whole.

This contemplation is here in the right place; for when I reflect on the
affection which drew me to these antique edifices, when I reckon up the
time which I devoted to the Strasburg minster alone, the attention with
which I afterwards examined: the cathedral at Cologne, and that at
Freyburg, and more and more felt the value of these buildings, I could
even blame myself for having afterwards lost sight of them altogether,--
nay, for having left them completely in the background, being attracted
by a more developed art. But when now, in the latest times, I see
attention again turned to those objects; when I see affection, and even
passion, for them appearing and flourishing; when I see able young
persons seized with this passion, recklessly devoting powers, time,
care, and property to these memorials of a past world,--then am I
reminded with pleasure that what I formerly would and wished had a
value. With satisfaction I see that they not only know how to prize what
was done by our fore-fathers, but that, from existing unfinished
beginnings, they try to represent, in pictures at least, the original
design, so as thus to make us acquainted with the thought, which is ever
the beginning and end of all undertakings; and that they strive with
considerate zeal to clear up and vivify what seems to be a confused
past. Here I especially applaud the brave Sulpiz Boisserée, who is
indefatigably employed in a magnificent series of copper-plates to
exhibit the cathedral of Cologne as the model of those vast conceptions,
the spirit of which, like that of Babel, strove up to heaven, and which
were so out of proportion to earthly means that they were necessarily
stopped fast in their execution. If we have been hitherto astonished
that such buildings proceeded only so far, we shall learn with the
greatest admiration what was really designed to be done.

Would that literary-artistical undertakings of this kind were duly
patronized by all who have power, wealth, and influence; that the great
and gigantic views of our fore-fathers may be presented to our
contemplation; and that we may be able to form a conception of what they
dared to desire. The insight resulting from this will not remain
fruitless; and the judgment will, for once at least, be in a condition
to exercise itself on these works with justice. Nay, this will be done
most thoroughly if our active young friend, besides the monograph
devoted to the cathedral of Cologne, follows out in detail the history
of our mediaeval architecture. When whatever is to be known about the
practical exercise of this art is further brought to light, when the art
is represented in all its fundamental features by a comparison with the
Graeco-Roman and the Oriental Egyptian, little can remain to be done in
this department. And I, when the results of such patriotic labors lie
before the world, as they are now known in friendly private
communications, shall be able, with true content, to repeat that motto
in its best sense, "Of whatever one wishes in youth, he will have enough
in old age."

But if, in operations like these, which belong to centuries, one can
trust one's self to time, and wait for opportunity, there are, on the
contrary, other things which in youth must be enjoyed at once, fresh,
like ripe fruits. Let me be permitted, with this sudden turn, to mention
dancing, of which the ear is reminded, as the eye is of the minster,
every day and every hour in Strasburg and all Alsace. From early youth
my father himself had given my sister and me instruction in dancing, a
task which must have comported strangely enough with so stern a man. But
he did not suffer his composure to be put out by it: he drilled us in
the positions and steps in a manner the most precise; and, when he had
brought us far enough to dance a minuet, he played for us something
easily intelligible in three-four time, on a /flute-douce/, and we
moved to it as well as we could. On the French theatre, likewise, I had
seen from my youth upwards, if not ballets, yet /pas seuls/ and
/pas de deux/, and had noticed in them various strange motions of
the feet, and all sorts of springs. When we had had enough of the
minuet, I requested my father to play some other dance-music, of which
our music-books, in their jigs and murkies, [Footnote: A "murki" is
defined as an old species of short composition for the harpsichord, with
a lively murmuring accompaniment in the bass.--TRANS.] offered us a rich
supply; and I immediately found out, of myself, the steps and other
motions for them, the time being quite suitable to my limbs, and, as it
were, born with them. This pleased my father to a certain degree;
indeed, he often, by way of joke for himself and us, let the "monkies"
dance in this way. After my misfortune with Gretchen, and during the
whole of my residence in Leipzig, I did not make my appearance again on
the floor: on the contrary, I still remember, that when, at a ball, they
forced me into a minuet, both measure and motion seemed to have
abandoned my limbs, and I could no longer remember either the steps or
the figures; so that I should have been put to disgrace and shame if the
greater part of the spectators had not maintained that my awkward
behavior was pure obstinacy, assumed with the view of depriving the
ladies of all desire to invite me and draw me into their circle against
my will.

During my residence in Frankfort I was quite cut off from such
pleasures; but in Strasburg, with other enjoyments of life, there soon
arose in my limbs the faculty of keeping time. On Sundays and week-days
one sauntered by no pleasure-ground without finding there a joyous crowd
assembled for the dance, and for the most part revolving in the circle.
Moreover, there were private balls in the country houses; and people
were already talking of the brilliant masquerades of the coming winter.
Here, indeed, I should have been out of my place, and useless to the
company, when a friend, who waltzed very well, advised me to practise
myself first in parties of a lower rank, so that afterwards I might be
worth something in the highest. He took me to a dancing-master, who was
well known for his skill. This man promised me, that, when I had in some
degree repeated the first elements and made myself master of them, he
would then lead me farther. He was one of your dry, ready French
characters, and received me in a friendly manner. I paid him a month in
advance, and received twelve tickets, for which he agreed to give me
certain hours' instruction. The man was strict and precise, but not
pedantic; and, as I already had some previous practice, I soon gave him
satisfaction, and received his commendation.

One circumstance, however, greatly facilitated the instruction of this
teacher: he had two daughters, both pretty, and both not yet twenty.
Having been instructed in this art from their youth upwards, they showed
themselves very skilful, and might have been able, as partners, soon to
help even the most clumsy scholars into some cultivation. They were both
very polite, spoke nothing but French; and I, on my part, did my best,
that I might not appear awkward or ridiculous before them. I had the
good fortune that they likewise praised me, and were always willing to
dance a minuet to their father's little violin, and, what indeed was
more difficult for them, to initiate me by degrees into waltzing and
whirling. Their father did not seem to have many customers, and they led
a lonely life. For this reason they often asked me to remain with them
after my hour, and to chat away the time a little, which I the more
willingly did, as the younger one pleased me well; and generally they
both altogether behaved very becomingly. I often read aloud something
from a novel, and they did the same. The elder, who was as handsome as,
perhaps even handsomer than, the second, but who did not correspond with
my taste so well as the latter, always conducted herself towards me more
obligingly, and more kindly in every respect. She was always at hand
during the lesson, and often protracted it: hence I sometimes thought
myself bound to offer back a couple of tickets to her father, which,
however, he did not accept. The younger, on the contrary, although never
showing me any ill will, was more reserved, and waited till she was
called by her father before she relieved the elder.

The cause of this became manifest to me one evening; for when, after the
dance was done, I was about to go into the sitting-room with the elder,
she held me back, and said, "Let us remain here a little longer; for I
will confess to you that my sister has with her a woman who tells
fortunes from cards, and who is to reveal to her how matters stand with
an absent lover, on whom her whole heart hangs, and upon whom she has
placed all her hope. Mine is free," she continued, "and I must accustom
myself to see it despised." I thereupon said sundry pretty things to
her, replying that she could at once convince herself on that point by
consulting the wise woman likewise; that I would do so myself, for I had
long wished to learn something of the kind, but lacked faith. She blamed
me for this, and assured me that nothing in the world was surer than the
responses of this oracle; only it must be consulted, not out of sport
and mischief, but solely in real affairs. However, I at last compelled
her to go with me into that room, as soon as she had ascertained that
the consultation was over. We found her sister in a very cheerful humor:
and even towards me she was kinder than usual, sportive, and almost
witty; for, since she seemed to be secure of an absent friend, she may
have thought it no treachery to be a little gracious with a present
friend of her sister's, which she thought me to be. The old woman was
now flattered, and good payment was promised her if she would tell the
truth to the elder sister and to me. With the usual preparations and
ceremonies she began her business, in order to tell the fair one's
fortune first. She carefully considered the situation of the cards, but
seemed to hesitate, and would not speak out what she had to say. "I see
now," said the younger, who was already better acquainted with the
interpretation of such a magic tablet, "you hesitate, and do not wish to
disclose any thing disagreeable to my sister; but that is a cursed
card!" The elder one turned pale, but composed herself, and said, "Only
speak out: it will not cost one's head!" The old woman, after a deep
sigh, showed her that she was in love; that she was not beloved; that
another person stood in the way; and other things of like import. We saw
the good girl's embarrassment. The old woman thought somewhat to improve
the affair by giving hopes of letters and money. "Letters," said the
lovely child, "I do not expect; and money I do not desire. If it is
true, as you say, that I love, I deserve a heart that loves me in
return."--"Let us see if it will not be better," replied the old woman,
as she shuffled the cards and laid them out a second time; but before
the eyes of all of us it had only become still worse. The fair one
stood, not only more lonely, but surrounded with many sorrows. Her lover
had moved somewhat farther, and the intervening figures nearer. The old
woman wished to try it a third time, in hopes of a better prospect; but
the beautiful girl could restrain herself no longer,--she broke out into
uncontrollable weeping, her lovely bosom heaved violently, she turned
round, and rushed out of the room. I knew not what to do. Inclination
kept me with the one present: compassion drove me to the other. My
situation was painful enough. "Comfort Lucinda," said the younger: "go
after her." I hesitated. How could I comfort her without at least
assuring her of some sort of affection? and could I do that at such a
moment in a cool, moderate manner? "Let us go together," said I to
Emilia. "I know not whether my presence will do her good," replied she.
Yet we went, but found the door bolted. Lucinda made no answer, we might
knock, shout, entreat, as we would. "We must let her have her own way,"
said Emilia: "she will not have it otherwise now." And, indeed, when I
called to my mind her manner from our very first acquaintance, she
always had something violent and unequal about her, and chiefly showed
her affection for me by not behaving to me with rudeness. What was I to
do? I paid the old woman richly for the mischief she had caused, and was
about to go, when Emilia said, "I stipulate that the cards shall now be
cut for you too." The old woman was ready. "Do not let me be present,"
cried I, and hastened down stairs.

The next day I had not courage to go there. The third day, early in the
morning, Emilia sent me word by a boy,--who had already brought me many
a message from the sisters, and had carried back flowers and fruits to
them in return,--that I should not fail that day. I came at the usual
hour, and found the father alone, who, in many respects, improved my
paces and steps, my goings and comings, my bearing and behavior, and,
moreover, seemed to be satisfied with me. The younger daughter came in
towards the end of the hour, and danced with me a very graceful minuet,
in which her movements were extraordinarily pleasing, and her father
declared that he had rarely seen a prettier and more nimble pair upon
his floor. After the lesson, I went as usual into the sitting-room; the
father left us alone; I missed Lucinda. "She is in bed," said Emilia,
"and I am glad of it: do not be concerned about it. Her mental illness
is first alleviated when she fancies herself bodily sick: she does not
like to die, and therefore she then does what we wish. We have certain
family medicines which she takes, and reposes; and thus, by degrees, the
swelling waves subside. She is indeed too good and amiable in such an
imaginary sickness; and as she is in reality very well, and is only
attacked by passion, she imagines various kinds of romantic deaths, with
which she frightens herself in a pleasant manner, like children when we
tell them ghost-stories. Thus, only last night, she announced to me with
great vehemence, that this time she should certainly die; and that only
when she was really near death, they should bring again before her the
ungrateful, false friend, who had at first acted so handsomely to her,
and now treated her so ill; she would reproach him bitterly, and then
give up the ghost."--"I know not that I am guilty," exclaimed I, "of
having expressed any sort of affection for her. I know somebody who can
best bear me witness in this respect." Emilia smiled, and rejoined, "I
understand you; and, if we are not discreet and determined, we shall all
find ourselves in a bad plight together. What will you say if I entreat
you not to continue your lessons? You have, I believe, four tickets yet
of the last month: and my father has already declared that he finds it
inexcusable to take your money any longer, unless you wish to devote
yourself to the art of dancing in a more serious manner; what is
required by a young man of the world you possess already."--"And do you,
Emilia, give me this advice, to avoid your house?" replied I. "Yes, I
do," said she, "but not of myself. Only listen! When you hastened away,
the day before yesterday, I had the cards cut for you; and the same
response was repeated thrice, and each time more emphatically. You were
surrounded by every thing good and pleasing, by friends and great lords;
and there was no lack of money. The ladies kept themselves at some
distance. My poor sister in particular stood always the farthest off:
one other advanced constantly nearer to you, but never came up to your
side; for a third person, of the male sex, always came between. I will
confess to you that I thought that I myself was meant by the second
lady, and after this confession you will best comprehend my well-meant
counsel. To an absent friend I have promised my heart and my hand; and,
until now, I loved him above all: yet it might be possible for your
presence to become more important to me than hitherto; and what kind of
a situation would you have between two sisters, one of whom you had made
unhappy by your affection, and the other by your coldness, and all this
ado about nothing and only for a short time? For, if we had not known
already who you are and what are your expectations, the cards would have
placed it before my eyes in the clearest manner. Fare you well!" said
she, and gave me her hand. I hesitated. "Now," said she, leading me
towards the door, "that it may really be the last time that we shall
speak to each other, take what I would otherwise have denied you." She
fell upon my neck, and kissed me most tenderly. I embraced her, and
pressed her to my bosom.

At this moment the side-door flew open; and her sister, in a light but
becoming night-dress, rushed out and cried, "You shall not be the only
one to take leave of him!" Emilia let me go; and Lucinda seized me,
clung close to my heart, pressed her black locks upon my cheeks, and
remained in this position for some time. And thus I found myself between
the two sisters, in the dilemma Emilia had prophesied to me a moment
before. Lucinda let me loose, and looked earnestly into my face. I was
about to grasp her hand and say something friendly to her; but she
turned herself away, walked with violent steps up and down the room for
some time, and then threw herself into a corner of the sofa. Emilia went
to her, but was immediately repulsed; and here began a scene which is
yet painful to me in the recollection, and which, although really it had
nothing theatrical about it, but was quite suitable to a lively young
Frenchwoman, could only be properly repeated in the theatre by a good
and feeling actress.

Lucinda overwhelmed her sister with a thousand reproaches. "This is not
the first heart," she cried, "that was inclining itself to me, and that
you have turned away. Was it not just so with him who is absent, and who
at last betrothed himself to you under my very eyes? I was compelled to
look on; I endured it; but I know how many thousand tears it has cost
me. This one, too, you have now taken away from me, without letting the
other go; and how many do you not manage to keep at once? I am frank and
good natured; and every one thinks he knows me soon, and may neglect me.
You are secret and quiet, and people think wonders of what may be
concealed behind you. Yet there is nothing behind but a cold, selfish
heart that can sacrifice every thing to itself; this nobody learns so
easily, because it lies deeply hidden in your breast: and just as little
do they know of my warm, true heart, which I carry about with me as open
as my face."

Emilia was silent, and had sat down by her sister, who became constantly
more and more excited in her discourse, and let certain private matters
slip out, which it was not exactly proper for me to know. Emilia, on the
other hand, who was trying to pacify her sister, made me a sign from
behind that I should withdraw; but, as jealousy and suspicion see with a
thousand eyes, Lucinda seemed to have noticed this also. She sprang up
and advanced to me, but not with vehemence. She stood before me, and
seemed to be thinking of something. Then she said, "I know that I have
lost you: I make no further pretensions to you. But neither shall you
have him, sister!" So saying, she took a thorough hold of my head,
thrusting both her hands into my locks and pressing my face to hers, and
kissed me repeatedly on the mouth. "Now," cried she, "fear my curse! Woe
upon woe, for ever and ever, to her who kisses these lips for the first
time after me! Dare to have any thing more to do with him! I know Heaven
hears me this time. And you, sir, hasten now, hasten away as fast as you
can!"

I flew down the stairs, with the firm determination never again to enter
the house.







End of Project Gutenberg's Autobiography, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe