Werther.
The manuscript, which was now finished, lay before me as a rough draught, with few corrections and alterations. It was stitched at once, for the binding is to a written work of about the same use as the frame is to a picture; one can much better see whether there is really anything in it. Since I had written thus much, almost unconsciously, like a somnambulist, I was myself astonished, now I went through it, that I might alter and improve it in some respects. But in the expectation that after some time, when I had seen it at a certain distance, much would occur to me that would turn to the advantage of the work, I gave it to my younger friends to read, upon whom it produced an effect so much the greater, as, contrary to my usual custom, I had told no one of it, nor discovered my design beforehand. Yet here again it was the subject-matter which really produced the effect, and in this respect they were in a frame of mind precisely the reverse of my own; for by this composition, more than by any other, I had freed myself from that stormy element, upon which, through my own fault and that of others, through a mode of life both accidental and chosen, through design and thoughtless precipitation, through obstinacy and pliability, I had been driven about in the most violent manner. I felt, as if after a general confession, once more happy and free, and justified in beginning a new life.
The old nostrum had been of excellent service to me on this occasion. But while I felt myself eased and enlightened by having turned reality into poetry, my friends were led astray by my work, for they thought that poetry ought to be turned into reality, that such a moral was to be imitated, and that atany rate one ought to shoot oneself. What had first happened here among a few, afterwards took place among the larger public, and this little book, which had been so beneficial to me, was decried as extremely injurious.
But all the evils and misfortunes which it may have produced were nearly prevented by an accident, since even after its production it ran the risk of being destroyed. The matter stood thus:—Merck had lately returned from Petersburg; I had spoken to him but little, because he was always occupied, and only told him, in the most general terms, of thatWertherwhich lay next my heart. He once called upon me, and as he did not seem very talkative, I asked him to listen to me. He seated himself on the sofa, and I began to read the tale, letter by letter. After I had gone on thus for a while, without gaining from him any sign of admiration, I adopted a more pathetic strain,—but what were my feelings, when at a pause which I made, he struck me down in the most frightful manner, with "Good! that's very pretty," and withdrew without adding anything more. I was quite beside myself, for, as I took great pleasure in my works, but at first passed no judgment on them, I here firmly believed that I had made a mistake in subject, tone, and style—all of which were doubtful—and had produced something quite inadmissible. Had a fire been at hand, I should at once have thrown in the work; but I again plucked up courage, and passed many painful days, until he at last assured me in confidence, that at that moment he had been in the most frightful situation in which a man can be placed. On this account, he said, he had neither seen nor heard anything, and did not even know what the manuscript was about. In the meanwhile the matter had been set right, as far as was possible, and Merck, in the times of his energy, was just the man to accommodate himself to anything monstrous; his humour returned, only it had grown still more bitter than before. He blamed my design of rewritingWerther, with the same expressions which he had used on a former occasion, and desired to see it printed just as it was. A fair copy was made, which did not remain long in my hands, for on the very day on which my sister was married to George Schlosser, a letter from Weygand, of Leipzig, chanced to arrive, in which he asked me for a manuscript; such a coincidence I looked upon as a favourable omen. I sent offWerther, and was very well satisfied, when the remunerationI received for it was not entirely swallowed up by the debts which I had been forced to contract on account ofGötz von Berlichingen.
Effect of Werther.
The effect of this little book was great, nay immense, and chiefly because it exactly hit the temper of the times. For as it requires but a little match to blow up an immense mine, so the explosion which followed my publication was mighty, from the circumstance that the youthful world had already undermined itself; and the shock was great, because all extravagant demands, unsatisfied passions, and imaginary wrongs, were suddenly brought to an eruption. It cannot be expected of the public that it should receive an intellectual work intellectually. In fact, it was only the subject, the material part, that was considered, as I had already found to be the case among my own friends; while at the same time arose that old prejudice, associated with the dignity of a printed book,—that it ought to have a moral aim. But a true picture of life has none. It neither approves nor censures, but developes sentiments and actions in their consequences, and thereby enlightens and instructs.
Of the reviews I took little notice. I had completely washed my hands of the matter, and the good folks might now try what they could make of it. Yet my friends did not fail to collect these things, and as they were already initiated into my views, to make merry with them. TheJoys of Young Werther, with which Nicolai came forth, gave us occasion for many a jest. This otherwise excellent, meritorious, and well-informed man, had already begun to depreciate and oppose everything that did not accord with his own way of thinking, which, as he was of a very narrow mind, he held to be the only correct way. Against me, too, he must needs try his strength, and his pamphlet was soon in our hands. The very delicate vignette, by Chodowiecki, gave me much delight; as at that time I admired this artist extravagantly. The jumbling medley itself was cut out of that rough household stuff, which the human understanding, in its homely limits, takes especial pains to make sufficiently coarse. Without perceiving that there was nothing here to qualify, that Werther's youthful bloom, from the very first, appears gnawed by the deadly worm, Nicolai allows my treatment to pass current up to the two hundred and fourteenth page, and then, when the desolate mortal is preparing for the fatal step,the acute psychological physician contrives to palm upon his patient a pistol, loaded with chickens' blood, from which a filthy spectacle, but happily no mischief, arises. Charlotte becomes the wife of Werther, and the whole affair ends to the satisfaction of everybody.
So much I can recall to memory, for the book never came before my eyes again. I had cut out the vignette, and placed it among my most favourite engravings. I then, by way of quiet, innocent revenge, composed a little burlesque poem, "Nicolai at the grave of Werther:" which, however, cannot be communicated. On this occasion, too, the pleasure of giving everything a dramatic shape, was again predominant. I wrote a prose dialogue between Charlotte and Werther, which was tolerably comical; Werther bitterly complains that his deliverance by chickens' blood has turned out so badly. His life is saved, it is true, but he has shot his eyes out. He is now in despair at being her husband, without being able to see her; for the complete view of her person would to him be much dearer than all those pretty details of which he could assure himself by the touch. Charlotte, as may be imagined, has no great catch in a blind husband, and thus occasion is given to abuse Nicolai pretty roundly, for interfering unasked in other people's affairs. The whole was written in a good-natured spirit, and painted, with prophetic forebodings, that unhappy, conceited humour of Nicolai's, which led him to meddle with things beyond his compass, which gave great annoyance both to himself and others, and by which, eventually, in spite of his undoubted merits, he entirely destroyed his literary reputation. The original of thisjeu d'espritwas never copied, and has been lost sight of for years. I had a special predilection for the little production. The pure ardent attachment of the two young persons, was rather heightened than diminished by the comico-tragic situation into which they were thus transposed. The greatest tenderness prevailed throughout; and even my adversary was not treated illnaturedly, but only humourously. I did not, however, let the book itself speak quite so politely; in imitation of an old rhyme it expressed itself thus:—
"By that conceited man—byhimI'm dangerous declar'd,The heavy man, who cannot swim,Is by the water scar'd,That Berlin pack, priest-ridden lot—Their ban I do not heed,And those who understand me notShould better learn to read."
Effect of Werther.
Being prepared for all that might be alleged againstWerther, I found those attacks, numerous as they were, by no means annoying; but I had no anticipation of the intolerable torment provided for me by sympathizers and well-wishers. These, instead of saying anything civil to me about my book just as it was, wished to know, one and all, what was really true in it; at which I grew very angry, and often expressed myself with great discourtesy. To answer this question, I should have been obliged to pull to pieces and destroy the form of a work on which I had so long pondered, with the view of giving a poetical unity to its many elements; and in this operation, if the essential parts were not destroyed, they would, at least, have been scattered and dispersed. However, upon a closer consideration of the matter, I could not take the public inquisitiveness in ill part. Jerusalem's fate had excited great attention. An educated, amiable, blameless young man, the son of one of the first theologians and authors, healthy and opulent, had at once, without any known cause, destroyed himself. Every one asked how this was possible, and when they heard of an unfortunate love affair, the whole youth were excited, and as soon as it transpired that some little annoyances had occurred to him in the higher circles, the middle classes also became excited; indeed every one was anxious to learn further particulars. NowWertherappeared an exact delineation, as it was thought, of the life and character of that young man. The locality and person tallied, and the narrative was so very natural, that they considered themselves fully informed and satisfied. But, on the other hand, on closer examination, there was so much that did not fit, that there arose, for those who sought the truth, an unmanageable business, because a critical investigation must necessarily produce a hundred doubts. The real groundwork of the affair was, however, not to be fathomed, for all that I had interwoven of my own life and suffering could not be deciphered, because, as an unobserved young man, I had secretly, though not silently, pursued my course.
While engaged in my work, I was fully aware how highly that artist was favoured who had an opportunity of composing a Venus from the study of a variety of beauties. AccordinglyI took leave to model my Charlotte according to the shape and qualities of several pretty girls, although the chief characteristics were taken from the one I loved best. The inquisitive public could therefore discover similarities in various ladies; and even to the ladies themselves it was not quite indifferent to be taken for the right one. But these several Charlottes caused me infinite trouble, because every one who only looked at me seemed determined to know where the proper one really resided. I endeavoured to save myself, like Nathan[7]with the three rings, by an expedient, which, though it might suit higher beings, would not satisfy either the believing or the reading public. I hoped after a time to be freed from such tormenting inquiries, but they pursued me through my whole life. I sought, on my travels, to escape them, by assuming anincognito, but even this remedy was, to my disappointment, unavailing, and thus the author of the little work, had he even done anything wrong and mischievous, was sufficiently, I may say disproportionately, punished by such unavoidable importunities.
Subjected to this kind of infliction, I was taught but too unequivocally, that authors and their public are separated by an immense gulf, of which, happily, neither of them have any conception. The uselessness, therefore, of all prefaces I had long ago seen; for the more pains a writer takes to render his views clear, the more occasion he gives for embarrassment. Besides, an author may preface as elaborately as he will, the public will always go on making precisely those demands which he has endeavoured to avoid. With a kindred peculiarity of readers, which (particularly with those who print their judgments) seems remarkably comical, I was likewise soon acquainted. They live, for instance, in the delusion that an author, in producing anything, becomes their debtor; and he always falls short of what they wished and expected of him, although before they had seen our work, they had not the least notion that anything of the kind existed, or was even possible. Independent of all this, it was now the greatest fortune, or misfortune, that every one wished to make the acquaintance of this strange young author, who had stepped forward so unexpectedly and so boldly. They desired to see him, to speak to him, and, even at a distance, to hear somethingfrom him; thus he had to undergo a very considerable crowd, sometimes pleasant, sometimes disagreeable, but always distracting. For enough works already begun lay before him, nay, and would have given him abundance of work for some years, if he could have kept to them with his old fervour; but he was drawn forth from the quiet, the twilight, the obscurity, which alone can favour pure creation, into the noise of daylight, where one is lost in others, where one is led astray, alike by sympathy and by coldness, by praise and by blame, because outward contact never accords with the epoch of our inner culture, and therefore, as it cannot further us, must necessarily injure us.
Dramatic Tendency.
Yet more than by all the distractions of the day, the author was kept from the elaboration and completion of greater works by the taste then prevalent in this society fordramatizingeverything of importance which occurred in actual life. What that technical expression (for such it was in our inventive society) really meant, shall here be explained. Excited by intellectual meetings on days of hilarity, we were accustomed, in short extemporary performances, to communicate, in fragments, all the materials we had collected towards the formation of larger compositions. One single simple incident, a pleasantlynaïveor even silly word, a blunder, a paradox, a clever remark, personal singularities or habits, nay, a peculiar expression, and whatever else would occur in a gay and bustling life—took the form of a dialogue, a catechism, a passing scene, or a drama,—often in prose, but oftener in verse.
By this practice, carried on with genial passion, the really poetic mode of thought was established. We allowed objects, events, persons, to stand for themselves in all their bearings, our only endeavour being to comprehend them clearly, and exhibit them vividly. Every expression of approbation or disapprobation was to pass in living forms before the eyes of the spectator. These productions might be called animated epigrams, which, though without edges or points, were richly furnished with marked and striking features. TheJahrmarktsfest(Fair-festival) is an epigram of this kind, or rather a collection of such epigrams. All the characters there introduced are meant for actual living members of that society, or for persons at least connected and in some degree known to it; but the meaning of the riddle remained concealed to the greater part; all laughed and few knew that their own marked peculiaritiesserved as the jest. The prologue toBahrdt's Newest Revelationsmay be looked upon as a document of another kind; the smallest pieces are among the miscellaneous poems, a great many have been destroyed or lost, and some that still exist do not admit of being published. Those which appeared in print only increased the excitement of the public, and curiosity about the author; those which were handed about in manuscript entertained the immediate circle, which was continually increasing. Doctor Bahrdt, then at Giessen, paid me a visit, apparently courteous and confiding; he laughed over the prologue, and wished to be placed on a friendly footing. But we young people still continued to omit no opportunity at social festivals, of sporting, in a malicious vein, at the peculiarities which we had remarked in others, and successfully exhibited.
If now it was by no means displeasing to the young author to be stared at as a literary meteor, he nevertheless sought, with glad modesty, to testify his esteem for the most deserving men of his country, among whom, before all others, the admirable Justus Möser claims especial mention. The little essays on political subjects by this incomparable man, had been printed some years before in theOsnabrück Intelligenzblätter, and made known to me through Herder, who overlooked nothing of worth that appeared in his time, especially if in print. Moser's daughter, Frau von Voigt, was occupied in collecting these scattered papers. We had scarcely patience to wait for their publication, and I placed myself in communication with her, to assure her, with sincere interest, that the essays, which, both in matter and form, had been addressed only to a limited circle, would be useful and beneficial everywhere. She and her father received these assurances from a stranger, not altogether unknown, in the kindest manner, since an anxiety which they had felt, was thus preliminarily removed.
What is in the highest degree remarkable and commendable in these little essays, all of which being composed in one spirit, form together a perfect whole, is the very intimate knowledge they display of the whole civil state of man. We see a system resting upon the past, and still in vigorous existence. On the one hand there is a firm adherence to tradition, on the other, movement and change which cannot be prevented. Here alarm is felt at a useful novelty, there pleasure in what is new, although it be useless, or even injurious. With what freedom from prejudice the author explains the relative position of differentranks, and the connexion in which cities, towns, and villages mutually stand! We learn their prerogatives, together with the legal grounds of them; we are told where the main capital of the state is invested, and what interest it yields. We see property and its advantages on the one hand, on the other, taxes and disadvantages of various kinds; and then the numerous branches of industry; and in all this past and present times are contrasted.
Osnaburg, as a member of the Hanseatic League, we are told, had in the earlier periods an extensive and active commerce. According to the circumstances of those times, it had a remarkable and fine situation; it could receive the produce of the country, and was not too far removed from the sea to transport it in its own ships. But now, in later times, it lies deep in the interior, and is gradually removed and shut out from the sea trade. How this has occurred, is explained in all its bearings. The conflict between England and the coasts, and of the havens with the interior, is mentioned; here are set forth the great advantages of those who live on the sea-side, and deliberate plans are proposed for enabling the inhabitants of the interior to obtain similar advantages. We then learn a great deal about trades and handicrafts, and how these have been outstripped by manufactures, and undermined by shop-keeping; decline is pointed out as the result of various causes, and this result, in its turn, as the cause of a further decline, in an endless circle, which it is difficult to unravel; yet it is so clearly set forth by the vigilant citizen, that one fancies one can see the way to escape from it. The author throughout displays the clearest insight into the most minute circumstances. His proposals, his counsel—nothing is drawn from the air, and yet they are often impracticable; on which account he calls his collection "patriotic fancies," although everything in it is based on the actual and the possible.
Justus Moeser.
But as everything in public life is influenced by domestic condition, this especially engages his attention. As objects both of his serious and sportive reflections, we find the changes in manners and customs, dress, diet, domestic life, and education. It would be necessary to indicate everything which exists in the civil and social world, to exhaust the list of subjects which he discusses. And his treatment of them is admirable. A thorough man of business discourses with the people in weekly papers, respecting whatever a wise and beneficentgovernment undertakes or carries out, that he may bring it to their comprehension in its true light. This is by no means done in a learned manner, but in those varied forms which may be called poetic, and which, in the best sense of the word, must certainly be considered rhetorical. He is always elevated above his subject, and understands how to give a cheerful view of the most serious subjects; now half-concealed behind this or that mask, now speaking in his own person, always complete and exhausting his subject,—at the same time always in good humour; more or less ironical, thoroughly to the purpose, honest, well-meaning, sometimes rough and vehement;—and all this so well regulated, that the spirit, understanding, facility, skill, taste, and character of the author cannot but be admired. In the choice of subjects of general utility, deep insight, enlarged views, happy treatment, profound yet cheerful humour, I know no one to whom I can compare him but Franklin.
Such a man had an imposing effect upon us, and greatly influenced a youthful generation, which demanded something sound, and stood ready to appreciate it. We thought we could adapt ourselves to the form of his exposition; but who could hope to make himself master of so rich an entertainment, and to handle the most unmanageable subjects with so much ease?
But this is our purest and sweetest illusion—one which we cannot resign, however much pain it may cause us through life—that we would, where possible, appropriate to ourselves, nay, even reproduce and exhibit as our own, that which we prize and honour in others.
[1]The post, managed by the princes of Thurn and Taxis, in different parts of Germany. An ancestor of this house first directed the post system in Tyrol, in 1450, and Alexander Ferdinand von Thurn received, in 1744, the office of Imperial Postmaster-General, as a fief of the empire.—Trans.
[1]The post, managed by the princes of Thurn and Taxis, in different parts of Germany. An ancestor of this house first directed the post system in Tyrol, in 1450, and Alexander Ferdinand von Thurn received, in 1744, the office of Imperial Postmaster-General, as a fief of the empire.—Trans.
[2]"Die lustige person." That is to say, the permanent buffoon, like "Kasperle" in the German puppet-shows, or "Sganarelle" in Moliere's broad comedies.—Trans.
[2]"Die lustige person." That is to say, the permanent buffoon, like "Kasperle" in the German puppet-shows, or "Sganarelle" in Moliere's broad comedies.—Trans.
[3]The peasant war, answering to theJaqueriein France.—Trans.
[3]The peasant war, answering to theJaqueriein France.—Trans.
[4]Anglicé: Make hay when the sun shines.—Trans.
[4]Anglicé: Make hay when the sun shines.—Trans.
[5]It is a German peculiarity to apply the word "Schwager" (brother-in-law) to a position.—Trans.
[5]It is a German peculiarity to apply the word "Schwager" (brother-in-law) to a position.—Trans.
[6]"Halbheit," "Halfness"—if there were such a word—would be the proper expression.—Trans.
[6]"Halbheit," "Halfness"—if there were such a word—would be the proper expression.—Trans.
[7]"Nathan the wise," in Lessing's play, founded on Boccacio's tale of the rings.—Trans.
[7]"Nathan the wise," in Lessing's play, founded on Boccacio's tale of the rings.—Trans.
Lenz—Lavater and Basedow—Cologne
With the movement which was spreading among the public, now arose another of greater importance perhaps to the author, as it took place in his immediate circle.
His early friends who had read, in manuscript, those poetical compositions which were now creating so much sensation, and therefore regarded them almost as their own, gloried in a success which they had boldly enough predicted. This number was augmented by new adherents, especially by such as felt conscious of a creative power in themselves, or were desirous of calling one forth and cultivating it.
Among the former, Lenz was the most active and he deported himself strangely enough. I have already sketched the outward appearance of this remarkable mortal, and have touched affectionately on his talent for humor. I will now speak of his character, in its results rather than descriptively, because it would be impossible to follow him through the mazy course of his life, and to transfer to these pages a full exhibition of his peculiarities.
Generally known is that self-torture which in the lack of all outward grievances, had now become fashionable, and which disturbed the very best minds. That which gives but a transient pain to ordinary men who never themselves meditate on that which they seek to banish from their minds, was, by the better order, acutely observed, regarded, and recorded in books, letters, and diaries. But now men united the strictest moral requisitions on themselves and others with an excessive negligence in action; and vague notions arising from this half-self-knowledge misled them into the strangest habits and out-of-the-waypractices. But this painful work of self-contemplation was justified by the rising empirical psychology which, while it was not exactly willing to pronounce everything that produces inward disquiet to be wicked and objectionable, still could not give it an unconditional approval, and thus was originated an eternal and inappeasable contest. In carrying on, and sustaining this conflict, Lenz surpassed all the other idlers and dabblers who were occupied in mining into their own souls, and thus he suffered from the universal tendency of the times, which was said to have been let loose by Werther; but a personal peculiarity distinguished him from all the rest. While they were undeniably frank and honest creatures, he had a decided inclination to intrigue, and, indeed, to intrigue for its own sake, without having in view any special object, any reasonable, attainable, personal object. On the contrary, it was always his custom to propose to himself something whimsical, which served, for that very reason, to keep him constantly occupied. In this way all his life long he was an imposter in his imagination; his love, as well as his hate, was imaginary; he dealt with his thoughts and feelings in a wilful manner, so as always to have something to do. He endeavoured to give reality to his sympathies and antipathies by the most perverse means, and always himself destroyed his own work. Thus he never benefited any one whom he loved, and never injured any one whom he hated. In general he seemed to sin only to punish himself, and to intrigue for no purpose but to graft a new fable upon an old one.
His talent, in which tenderness, facility, and subtlety rivalled each other, proceeded from a real depth, from an inexhaustible creative power, but was thoroughly morbid with all its beauty. Such qualities are precisely the most difficult to judge. It is impossible to overlook great features in his works—a lovely tenderness steals along through pieces of caricature so odd and so silly that they can hardly be pardoned, even in a humor so thorough and unassuming, and such a genuine comic talent. His days were made up of mere nothings, to which his nimble fancy could ever give a meaning, and he was the better able to squander hours away, since, with a happy memory, the time which he did employ in reading, was always fruitful, and enriched his original mode of thought with various materials.
Lenz.
He had been sent to Strasburg with some Livonian gentlemen, and a more unfortunate choice of a Mentor could not have been made. The elder baron went back for a time to his native country, and left behind him a lady to whom he was tenderly attached. In order to keep at a distance the second brother, who was paying court to the same lady, as well as other lovers, and to preserve the precious heart for his absent friend, Lenz determined either to feign that he had fallen in love with the beauty, or if you please, actually to do so. He carried through this plan with the most obstinate adherence to the ideal he had formed of her, without being aware that he, as well as the others, only served her for jest and pastime. So much the better for him! For him, too, it was nothing but a game which could only be kept up by her meeting him in the same spirit, now attracting him, now repelling him, now encouraging him, and now slighting him. We may be sure that if he had become aware of the way the affair sometimes went on, he would, with great delight, have congratulated himself on the discovery.
As for the rest he, like his pupils, lived mostly with officers of the garrison, and thus the strange notions he afterwards brought out in his comedyDie Soldaten(The Soldiers) probably originated. At any rate, this early acquaintance with military men had on him the peculiar effect, that he forthwith fancied himself a great judge of military matters. And yet from time to time he really studied the subject in detail with such effect, that some years afterward he prepared a long memorial to the French Minister of War, from which he promised himself the best results. The faults of the department were tolerably well pointed out, but on the other hand, the remedies were ridiculous and impracticable. However, he cherished a conviction that he should by this means gain great influence at court, and was anything but grateful to those of his friends who, partly by reasoning, and partly by active opposition, compelled him to suppress, and afterwards to bum, this fantastic work, after it had been fair-copied, put under cover with a letter, and formally addressed.
First of all by word of mouth, and afterwards by letter, he had confided to me all the mazes of his tortuous movements with regard to the lady above mentioned. The poetry which he could infuse into the commonest incidents often astonishedme, so that I urged him to employ his talents in turning the essence of this long-winded adventure to account, and to make a little romance out of it. But that was not in his line; he could only succeed when he poured himself out for ever upon details, and span an endless thread without any purpose. Perhaps it will be possible at a future time, to deduce from these premises some account of his life up to tho time that he became a lunatic. At present I confine myself to what is immediately connected with the subject in hand.
Hardly had Götz von Berlichingen appeared when Lenz sent me a prolix essay written on small draught paper, such as he commonly used, without leaving the least margin, either at the top, the bottom, or the sides. It was entitled,Ueber unsere Ehe, (On our Marriage,) and were it still in existence, might enlighten us much more now than it then did me, when I was as yet in the dark as to him and his character. The leading purpose of this long manuscript was to compare my talent with his own: now he seemed to make himself inferior to me, now to represent himself as my equal; but it was all done with such humorous and neat turns of expression that I gladly received the view he intended to convey, and all the more so as I did, in fact, rate very high the gifts he possessed, and was always urging him to concentrate himself out of his aimless rambling, and to use his natural capacities with some artistical control. I replied in the most friendly way to this confidential communication, and as he had encouraged the greatest intimacy between us, (as the whimsical title indicates,) from that time forward I made known to him everything I had either finished or designed. In return he successively sent me his manuscripts:Der Hofmeister, (Private Tutor.)Der neue Menoza, (The New Menoza,)Die Soldaten, (The Soldiers,) the imitations of Plautus, and the translation from the English which I have before spoken of as forming the supplement to his remarks on the theatre.
While reading the latter, I was somewhat struck to find him in a laconic preface speaking in such a way as to convey the idea that this essay, which contained a vehement attack upon the regular theatre, had, many years before, been read to a society of the friends of literature at a time, in short, when Götz was not yet written. That there should have been among Lenz's acquaintances at Strasburg a literary circle of which Iwas ignorant seemed somewhat problematical; however I let it pass, and soon procured publishers for this and his other writings, without having the least suspicion that he had selected me as the chief object of his fanciful hatred, and as the mark of an odd and whimsical persecution.
In passing, I will, for the sake of the sequel, just mention a good fellow, who, though of no extraordinary gifts, was yet one of our number. He was called Wagner, and was first a member of our Strasburg society and then of that at Frankfort—a man not without spirit, talent, and education. He appeared to be a striving sort of person, and was therefore welcome. He, too, attached himself to me, and as I made no secret of my plans, I shewed to him as well as others my sketch of the Faust, especially the catastrophe of Gretchen. He caught up the idea and used it for a tragedy,Die Kindesmörderin, (The Infanticide.) It was the first time that any one had stolen from me any of my plans. It vexed me, though I bore him no ill will on that account. Since then I have often enough suffered such robberies and anticipations of my thoughts, and with my dilatoriness and habit of gossipping about the many things that I was ever planning and imagining, I had no right to complain.
Klinger.
If on account of the great effect which contrasts produce, orators and poets gladly make use of them even at the expense of seeking them out and bringing them from a distance, it must be the more agreeable to the present writer that such a decided contrast presents itself, in his speaking of Klinger after Lenz. They were contemporaries, and in youth labored together. But Lenz, as a transient meteor, passed but for a moment over the horizon of German literature, and suddenly vanished without leaving any trace behind. Klinger, on the other hand, has maintained his position up to the present time as an author of influence, and an active man of business. Of him I will now speak, as far as it is necessary, without following any farther a comparison, which suggests itself; for it has not been in secret that he has accomplished so much and exercised so great an influence, but both his works and his influence are still remembered, far and near, and are highly esteemed and appreciated.
Klinger's exterior, for I always like best to begin with this, was very prepossessing. Nature had given him a tall,slender, well-built form, and regular features. He was careful of his appearance, always dressed neatly, and might justly have passed for the smartest member of our little society. His manners were neither forward nor repulsive, and when not agitated by an inward storm, mild and gentle.
In girls, we love what they are, but in young men what they promise to be, and thus I was Klinger's friend as soon as I made his acquaintance. He recommended himself by a pure good nature, and an unmistakeable decision of character won him confidence. From youth upward, everything had tended to incline him to seriousness. Together with a beautiful and excellent sister, he had to provide for a mother, who in her widowhood had need of such children for her support. He had made himself everything that he was, so that no one could find fault with a trait of proud independence which was apparent in his bearing. Strong natural talents, such as are common to all well-endowed men, a facile power of apprehension, an excellent memory, and great fluency of speech, he possessed in a high degree; but he appeared to regard all these as of less value than the firmness and perseverance which were likewise innate with him, and which circumstances had abundantly strengthened.
To a young man of such a character, the works of Rousseau were especially attractive.Emilewas his chief text-book, and its sentiments, as they had an universal influence over the cultivated world, were peculiarly fruitful with him, and influenced him more than others. For he too was a child of nature,—he too had worked his way upwards. What others had been compelled to cast away, he had never possessed; relations of society from which they would have to emancipate themselves, had never fettered him. Thus might he be regarded as one of the purest disciples of that gospel of nature, and in view of his own persevering efforts and his conduct as a man and son, he might well exclaim, "All is good as it comes from the hands of nature!" But the conclusion, "All is corrupted in the hands of man!" was also forced upon him by adverse experience. It was not with himself that he had to struggle, but beyond and out of himself with the conventional world, from whose fetters the Citizen of Geneva designed to set us free. And as from the circumstances of his youth the struggle he had to undergo had often been difficult and painful, he hadbeen driven back upon himself too violently to attain a thoroughly serene and joyous development. On the contrary, as he had had to force his way against an opposing world, a trait of bitterness had crept into his character, which he afterwards in some degree fed and cherished, but for the most part strove against and conquered.
Klinger.
His works, as far as I am able to recall them, bespeak a strong understanding, an upright mind, an active imagination, a ready perception of the varieties of human nature, and a characteristic imitation of generic differences. His girls and boys are open and amiable, his youths ardent, his men plain and intelligent, the personages whom he paints in an unfavorable light are not overdrawn; he is not wanting in cheerfulness and good humour, in wit and happy notions; allegories and symbols are at his command; he can entertain and please us, and the enjoyment would be still purer if he did not here and there mar both for himself and us, his gay, pointed jesting by a touch of bitterness. Yet this it is which makes him what he is. The modes of living and of writing become as varied as they are, from the fact that every one wavers theoretically between knowledge and error, and practically between creation and destruction.
Klinger should be classed with those who have formed themselves for the world, out of themselves, out of their own souls and understandings. Because this takes place in and among a greater mass, and because among themselves they use with power and effect, an intelligible language flowing out of universal nature and popular peculiarities, such men always cherish a warm hostility to all forms of the schools, especially if these forms, separated from their living origin, have degenerated into phrases, and have thus lost altogether their first, fresh significance. Such men almost invariably declare war against new opinions, views, and systems, as well as against new events and rising men of importance who announce or produce great changes. They are however not so much to blame on this account; their opposition is not unnatural when they see all that which they are indebted to for their own existence and culture menaced with ruin and in great danger.
In an energetic character this adherence to its own views becomes the more worthy of respect when it has been maintained throughout a life in the world and in business, and whena mode of dealing with current events, which to many might seem rough and arbitrary, being employed at the right time, has led surely to the desired end. This was the case with Klinger; without pliability (which was never the virtue of the born citizen of the empire,[1]) he had nevertheless risen, steadily, and honorably, to posts of great importance, had managed to maintain his position, and as he advanced in the approbation and favor of his highest patrons, never forgot his old friends, or the path he had left behind. Indeed, through all degrees of absence and separation, he laboured pertinaciously to preserve the most complete constancy of remembrance, and it certainly deserves to be remarked that in his coat of arms though adorned by the badges of several orders, he, like another Willigis, did not disdain to perpetuate the tokens of his early life.