The state of health in which, still with a slight fever recurring every
afternoon, I returned to Gottingen was by no means cheering.
Besides, I was obliged at once to undergo the five days’ imprisonment
to which I had been justly sentenced for reckless shooting across the
street.
During the day I read, besides some very trashy novels, several by Jean
Paul, with most of which I had become familiar while a school-boy in the
first class.
They had given me so much pleasure that I was vexed with the
indifference with which some of my friends laid the works of the great
humorist aside.
There were rarely any conversations on the more serious scientific
subjects among the members of the corps, though it did not lack talented
young men, and some of the older ones were industrious.
Nothing, perhaps, lends the life of the corps a greater charm than the
affectionate intercourse which unites individuals.
I was always sure of finding sympathizers for everything that touched my
feelings.
With regard to the results of my nocturnal labour the case was very
different. If any one else had “bored” me at the tavern about his views
of Feuerbach and Lotze, I should undoubtedly have stopped him with
Goethe’s “Ergo bibamus.”
There was one person in Gottingen, however, Herbert Pernice, from whom
I might expect full sympathy. Though only five years my senior, he was
already enrolled among the teachers of the legal faculty. The vigour
and keenness of his intellect and the extent of his knowledge were as
amazing as his corpulence.
One evening I had met him at the Krone and left the table at which he
presided in a very enthusiastic state of mind; for while emptying I
know not how many bottles of Rhine wine he directed the conversation
apparently unconsciously.
Each of his statements seemed to strike the nail on the head.
The next day, to my great delight, I met him again at Professor Baum’s.
He had retreated from the ladies, whom he always avoided, and as we
were alone in the room I soon succeeded in turning the conversation upon
Feuerbach, for I fairly longed to have another person’s opinion of him.
Besides, I was certain of hearing the philosopher criticised by the
conservative antimaterialistic Pernice in an original manner--that is,
if he knew him at all. True, I might have spared myself the doubt; for
into what domain of humanistic knowledge had not this highly talented
man entered!
Feuerbach was thoroughly familiar to him, but he condemned his
philosophy with pitiless severity, and opposed with keen wit and
sharp dialectics his reasons for denying the immortality of the soul,
inveighing especially against the phrase and idea “philosophy of
religion” as an absurdity which genuine philosophy ought not to permit
because it dealt only with thought, while religion concerned faith,
whose seat is not in the head, the sacred fount of all philosophy, but
the heart, the warm abode of religion and faith. Then he advised me
to read Bacon, study Kant, Plato, and the other ancient
philosophers--Lotze, too, if I desired--and when I had them all by
heart, take up the lesser lights, and even then be in no hurry to read
Feuerbach and his wild theology.
I met and conversed with him again whenever I could, and he availed
himself of the confidence he inspired to arouse my enthusiasm for the
study of jurisprudence. So I am indebted to Pernice for many benefits.
In one respect only my reverence for him entailed a certain peril.
He knew what I was doing, but instead of warning me of the danger
which threatened me from toiling at night after such exciting days, he
approved my course and described episodes of his own periods of study.
One of the three essays for which he received prizes had been written
to compel his father to retract the “stupid fellow” with which he had
insulted him. At that time he had sat over his books day and night for
weeks, and, thank Heaven, did not suffer from it.
His colossal frame really did seem immovable, and I deemed mine, though
much slighter, capable of nearly equal endurance. It required severe
exertions to weary me, and my mind possessed the capacity to devote
itself to strenuous labour directly after the gayest amusements, and
there was no lack of such “pastimes” either in Gottingen or just beyond
its limits.
Among the latter was an excursion to Cassel which was associated with an
adventure whose singular course impressed it firmly on my memory.
When we arrived, chilled by the railway journey, an acquaintance of the
friend who accompanied me ordered rum and water for us, and we laughed
and jested with the landlord’s pretty daughters, who brought it to us.
As it had been snowing heavily and the sleighing was excellent, we
determined to return directly after dinner, and drive as far as Munden.
Of course the merry girls would be welcome companions, and we did not
find it very difficult to persuade them to go part of the way with us.
So we hired two sleighs to convey us to a village distant about an
hour’s ride, from which we were to send them back in one, while my
friend and I pursued our journey in the other.
After a lively dinner with our friends they joined us.
The snow-storm, which had ceased for several hours, began again, growing
more and more violent as we drove on. I never saw such masses of the
largest flakes, and just outside the village where the girls were to
turn back the horses could barely force their way through the white mass
which transformed the whole landscape into a single snowy coverlet.
The clouds seemed inexhaustible, and when the time for departure came
the driver declared that it would be impossible to go back to Cassel.
The girls, who, exhilarated by the swift movement through the cold,
bracing air, had entered into our merriment, grew more and more anxious.
Our well-meant efforts to comfort them were rejected; they were angry
with us for placing them in such an unpleasant position.
The lamps were lighted when I thought of taking the landlady into our
confidence and asking her to care for the poor frightened children. She
was a kind, sensible woman, and though she at first exclaimed over their
heedlessness, she addressed them with maternal tenderness and showed
them to the room they were to occupy.
They came down again at supper reassured, and we ate the rustic meal
together very merrily. One of them wrote a letter to her father, saying
that they had been detained by the snow at the house of an acquaintance,
and a messenger set off with it at sunrise, but we were told that the
road would not be passable before noon.
Yet, gay as our companions were at breakfast, the thought of
entertaining them longer seemed irksome, and as the church bells were
ringing some one proposed that we should go.
A path had been shovelled, and we were soon seated in the country
church. The pastor, a fine-looking man of middle age, entered, and
though I no longer remember his text, I recollect perfectly that he
spoke of the temptations which threaten to lure us from the right paths
and the means of resisting them.
One of the most effectual, he said, was the remembrance of those to whom
we owe love and respect. I thought of my mother and blind old Langethal,
of Tzschirner, and of Herbert Pernice, and, dissatisfied with myself,
resolved to do in the future not only what was seemly, but what the duty
of entering more deeply into the science which I had chosen required.
The childish faith which Feuerbach’s teachings had threatened to destroy
seemed to gaze loyally at me with my mother’s eyes. I felt that Pernice
was right--it was the warm heart, not the cool head, which should deal
with these matters, and I left the church, which I had entered merely to
shorten an hour, feeling as if released from a burden.
Our return home was pleasant, and I began to attend the law lectures at
Gottingen with tolerable regularity.
I was as full of life, and, when occasion offered, as reckless, as ever,
though a strange symptom began to make itself unpleasantly felt. It
appeared only after severe exertion in walking, fencing, or dancing, and
consisted of a peculiar, tender feeling in the soles of my feet, which I
attributed to some fault of the shoemaker, and troubled myself the less
about it because it vanished soon after I came in.
But the family of Professor Baum, the famous surgeon, where I was very
intimate, had thought ever since my return from the Christmas vacation
that I did not look well.
With Marianne, the second daughter of this hospitable household, a
beautiful girl of remarkably brilliant mind, I had formed so intimate,
almost fraternal, a friendship, that both she and her warm-hearted
mother called me “Cousin Schorge.”
Frau Dirichlet, the wife of the great mathematician, the sister of Felix
Mendelssohn Bartholdy, in whose social and musical home I spent hours of
pleasure which will never be forgotten, also expressed her anxiety about
my loss of flesh. When a girl she had often met my mother, and at my
first visit she won my affection by her eager praise of that beloved
woman’s charms.
As the whole family were extremely musical they could afford themselves
and their friends a great deal of enjoyment. I have never heard Joachim
play so entrancingly as to her accompaniment. At a performance in her
own house, where the choruses from Cherubini’s Water-Carrier were given,
she herself had rehearsed the music with those who were to take part,
and to hear her play on the piano was a treat.
This lady, a remarkable woman in every respect, who gave me many tokens
of maternal affection, insisted on the right to warn me. She did this by
reminding me, with delicate feminine tact, of my mother when she heard
of a wager which I now remember with grave disapproval. This was to
empty an immense number of bottles of the heavy Wurzburg Stein wine and
yet remain perfectly sober. My opponent, who belonged to the Brunswick
Corps, lost, but as soon after I was attacked by illness, though not in
consequence of this folly, which had occurred about a fortnight before,
he could not give the breakfast which I had won. But he fulfilled his
obligation; for when, several lustra later, I visited his native city of
Hamburg as a Leipsic professor, to deliver an address before the Society
of Art and Science, he arranged a splendid banquet, at which I met
several old Gottingen friends.
The term was nearly over when an entertainment was given to the corps
by one of its aristocratic members. It was a very gay affair. A band of
music played, and we students danced with one another. I was one of the
last to depart, long after midnight, and on looking for my overcoat I
could not find it. One of the guests had mistaken it for his, and
the young gentleman’s servant had carried his own home. This was
unfortunate, for mine contained my door-key.
Heated by dancing, in a dress-coat, with a thin white necktie, I went
out into the night air. It was cold, and, violently as I pounded on the
door of the Schonhutte, no one opened it. At last I thought of pounding
on the gutter-spout, which I did till I roused the landlord. But I had
been at least fifteen minutes in the street, and was fairly numbed. The
landlord was obliged to open the room and light my lamp, because I could
not use my fingers.
If I had been intoxicated, which I do not believe, the cold would have
sobered me, for what happened is as distinct as if it had occurred
yesterday.
I undressed, went to bed, and when I was roused by a strange burning
sensation in my throat I felt so weak that I could scarcely lift my
arm. There was a peculiar taste of blood in my mouth, and as I moved
I touched something moist. But my exhaustion was so great that I fell
asleep again, and the dream which followed was so delightful that I did
not forget it. Perhaps the distinctness of my recollection is due to my
making it the subject of a poem, which I still possess. It seemed as
if I were lying in an endless field of poppies, with the notes of music
echoing around me. Never did I have a more blissful vision.
The awakening was all the more terrible. Only a few hours could have
passed since I went to rest. Dawn was just appearing, and I rang for the
old maid-servant who waited on me. An hour later Geheimrath Baum stood
beside my bed.
The heavy tax made upon my physical powers by exposure to the night air
had caused a severe haemorrhage. The excellent physician who took charge
of my case said positively that my lungs were sound, and the attack was
due to the bursting of a blood-vessel. I was to avoid sitting upright
in bed, to receive no visitors, and have ice applied. I believed myself
destined to an early death, but the departure from life caused me no
fear; nay, I felt so weary that I desired nothing but eternal sleep.
Only I wanted to see my mother again.
Then let my end come!
I was in the mood to write, and either the day after the haemorrhage or
the next one I composed the following verses:
A field of poppies swaying to and fro,
Their blossoms scarlet as fresh blood,
I see, While o’er me, radiant in the noontide glow,
The sky, blue as corn-flowers, arches free.
Low music echoes through the breezes warm;
The violet lends the poppy her sweet breath;
The song of nightingales is heard, a swarm
Of butterflies flit hov’ring o’er the heath.
While thus I lie, wrapped in a morning dream,
Half waking, half asleep, ‘mid poppies red,
A fresh breeze cools my burning cheeks; a gleam
Of light shines in the East. Hath the night sped?
Then upward from an opening bud hath flown
A poppy leaf toward the azure sky,
But close beside it, from a flower full-blown,
The scattered petals on the brown earth lie.
The leaflet flutters, a fair sight to view,
By the fresh matin breezes heavenward borne,
The faded poppy falls, the fields anew
To fertilize, which grateful thanks return.
Starting from slumber round my room I gaze
My hand of my own life-blood bears the stain;
I am the poppy-leaf, with the first rays
Of morning snatched away from earth’s domain.
Not mine the fate the world’s dark ways to wend,
And perish, wearied, at the goal of life;
Still glad and blooming, I leave every friend;
The game is lost--but with what joys ‘twas rife!
I cannot express how these verses relieved my heart; and when on the
third day I again felt comparatively well I tried to believe that I
should soon recover, enjoy the pleasures of corps life, though with some
caution, and devote myself seriously to the study of jurisprudence under
Pernice’s direction.
The physician gave his permission for a speedy return, but his assurance
that there was no immediate danger if I was careful did not afford me
unmixed pleasure. For my mother’s sake and my own I desired to live, but
the rules he prescribed before my departure were so contradictory to
my nature that they seemed unbearably cruel. They restricted every
movement. He feared the haemorrhage far less than the tender feeling in
the soles of my feet and other small symptoms of the commencement of a
chronic disease.
Middendorf had taught us to recognize God’s guidance in Nature and our
own lives, and how often I succeeded in doing so! But when I examined
myself and my condition closely it seemed as if what had befallen me was
the result of a malicious or blind chance.
Never before or since have I felt so crushed and destitute of support
as during those days, and in this mood I left the city where the spring
days of life had bloomed so richly for me, and returned home to my
mother. She had learned what had occurred, but the physician had assured
her that with my vigorous constitution I should regain my health if I
followed his directions.