find no rest here. I left my friend to a happy sleep, and sought
the hunting-seat, which lay still further up. It looks out far over
mountain and wood, the outlines of which were only to be recognised
against the clear night-sky, but the sides and depths of which were
impenetrable to my sight. This well-preserved building stood as empty
as it was lonely; no castellan, no huntsman was to be found. I sat
before the great glass doors upon the steps which run around the whole
terrace. Here, surrounded by mountains, over a forest-grown, dark soil,
which seemed yet darker in contrast with the clear horizon of a summer
night, with the glowing starry vault above me, I sat for a long time
by myself on the deserted spot, and thought I never had felt such a
solitude. How sweetly, then, was I surprised by the distant sound of a
couple of French horns, which at once, like the fragrance of balsam,
enlivened the peaceful atmosphere. Then there awakened within me the
image of a lovely being, which had retired into the background before
the motley objects of these travelling days, but which now unveiled
itself-more and more, and drove me from the spot back to my quarters,
where I made preparations to set off with the earliest.
[Side-note: Zwey-Brücken.]
The return was not used like the journey out. Thus we hurried
through Zwey-brücken (Deux-Ponts), which, as a beautiful and notable
residence, might well have deserved our attention. We cast a glance
upon the great, simple castle, on the extensive esplanades, regularly
planted with linden-trees, and very well adapted for the training of
race-horses, and on the large stables, and the citizens' houses which
the prince had built to be raffled for. All this, as well as the
costume and manners of the inhabitants, especially of the matrons
and maids, had reference to a distant connexion, and made plainly
visible the relation with Paris, from which, for a long time, nothing
transrhenane had been able to withdraw itself. We visited also the
ducal wine-cellars, situated before the city, which are extensive, and
furnished with large, well-made tuns. We went on further, and at last
found the country like that in the neighbourhood of Saarbrück. Between
wild and savage mountains are a few villages; one here gets rid of the
habit of looking about for corn. We mounted up, by the side of the
Hornbach, to Bitsch, which lies on the important spot where the waters
divide, and fall, a part into the Saar, a part into the Rhine. These
last were soon to attract us towards them. Yet we could not refuse our
attention to the little city of Bitsch, which very picturesquely winds
around the mountain, nor to the fortress, which lies above. This is
partly built on rocks, and partly hewn out of them. The subterraneous
chambers are particularly worthy of remark; here is not only space
sufficient for the abode of a number of men and cattle, but one even
lights upon large vaults for the drilling of troops, a mill, a chapel,
and whatever else could be required under-ground, provided the surface
were in a state of disturbance.
We now followed the down-rushing brooks through Bärenthal. The thick
forests on both the heights remain unused by the hand of man. Here
trunks of trees lie rotting on each other by thousands, and young
scions sprout up without number from their half-mouldered progenitors.
Here, in conversation with some companions on foot, the name Von
Dieterich again struck our ears, which we had often heard honourably
mentioned already in these woody regions. The activity and cleverness
of this man, his wealth, and the use and applications of it, all seemed
in proportion. He could with justice take delight in the acquisitions
which he increased, and enjoy the profits he secured. The more I saw
of the world, the more pleasure I took, not only in the universally
famous names, but in those also, especially, which were mentioned in
particular regions with reverence and love: and thus I easily learned
here, by a few questions, that Von Dieterich, earlier than others, had
known how to make successful use of the mountain treasures, iron, coal,
and wood, and had worked his way to an ever-growing opulence.
Niederbrunn, where we now arrived, was a new proof of this. He had
purchased this little place from the Count of Leiningen and other
part-owners, to erect important iron-works in the place.
Here in these baths, already founded by the Romans, floated around me
the spirit of antiquity, venerable relics of which, in fragments of
bas-reliefs and inscriptions, capitals and shafts, shone out strangely
towards me, from farm-houses, amidst household lumber and furniture.
[Side-note: Sesenheim.]
As we were ascending the adjacent Wasenburg also, I paid my respects
to a well-preserved inscription, which discharged a thankful vow to
Mercury, and is situated upon the great mass of rock which forms the
base of the hill on one side. The fortress itself lies on the last
mountain, looking from Bitsch towards Germany. It is the ruin of a
German castle built upon Roman remains. From the tower the whole of
Alsace was once more surveyed, and the conspicuous minster-spire
pointed out the situation of Strasburg. First of all, however, the
great forest of Hagenau extended itself, and the towers of this town
peered plainly from behind. I was attracted thither. We rode through
Reichshof, where Von Dieterich built an imposing castle, and after we
had contemplated from the hills near Niedermoder the pleasing course of
the little river Moder, by the forest of Hagenau, I left my friend on a
ridiculous coal-mine visitation, which, at Dutweil, might have been a
somewhat more serious business, and I then rode through Hagenau, on the
direct road--already indicated by my affection--to my beloved Sesenheim.
For all these views into a wild, mountain region, and then, again,
into a cheerful, fruitful, joyous land, could not rivet my mind's
eye, which was directed to an amiable, attractive object. This time,
also, the hither way seemed to me more charming than its opposite, as
it brought me again into the neighbourhood of a lady to whom I was
heartily devoted, and who deserved as much respect as love. But before
I lead my friends to her rural abode, let me be permitted to mention
a circumstance which contributed very much to enliven and enhance my
affection, and the satisfaction which it afforded me.
[Side-note: The "Vicar of Wakefield."]
How far I must have been behindhand in modern literature, may be
gathered from the mode of life which I led at Frankfort, and from
the studies to which I had devoted myself; nor could my residence in
Strasburg have furthered me in this respect. Now Herder came, and
together with his great knowledge brought many other aids, and the
later publications besides. Among these he announced to us the _Vicar
of Wakefield_ as an excellent work, with the German translation of
which he would make us acquainted by reading it aloud to us himself.
His method of reading was quite peculiar; whoever has heard him preach
will be able to form a notion of it. He delivered everything, this
romance included, in a serious and simple style, perfectly removed
from all dramatically imitative representation; he even avoided that
variety which is not only permitted, but even required, in an epical
delivery--a slight change of tone when different persons speak, by
which what every one says is brought into relief, and the actor is
distinguished from the narrator. Without being monotonous, Herder let
everything go on in the same tone, just as if nothing was present
before him, but all was merely historical; as if the shadows of this
poetic creation did not act livingly before him, but only glided gently
by. Yet this manner of delivery from his mouth had an infinite charm;
for, as he felt all most deeply, and knew how to estimate the variety
of such a work, so the whole merit of a production appeared purely and
the more clearly, as one was not disturbed by details sharply spoken
out, nor interrupted in the feeling which the whole was meant to
produce.
A Protestant country clergyman is, perhaps, the most beautiful
subject for a modern idyl; he appears, like Melchizedek, as priest
and king in one person. To the most innocent situation which can be
imagined on earth, to that of a husbandman, he is, for the most part,
united by similarity of occupation, as well as by equality in family
relationships; he is a father, a master of a family, an agriculturist,
and thus perfectly a member of the community. On this pure, beautiful,
earthly foundation, rests his higher calling: to him is it given to
guide men through life, to take care** of their spiritual education, to
bless them at all the leading epochs of their existence, to instruct,
to strengthen, to console them, and, if consolation is not sufficient
for the present, to call up and guarantee the hope of a happier future.
Imagine such a man, with pure human sentiments, strong enough not to
deviate from them under any circumstances, and by this already elevated
above the multitude, of whom one cannot expect purity and firmness;
give him the learning necessary for his office, as well as a cheerful,
equable activity, which is even passionate, as it neglects no moment
to do good,--and you will have him well endowed. But at the same time
add the necessary limitation, so that he must not only pause in a
small circle, but may also perchance pass over to a smaller; grant him
good-nature, placability, resolution, and everything else praiseworthy
that springs from a decided character, and over all this a cheerful
spirit of compliance, and a smiling toleration of his own failings and
those of others,--then you will have put together pretty well the image
of our excellent Wakefield.
[Side-note: The "Vicar of Wakefield."]
The delineation of this character on his course of life through
joys and sorrows, the ever-increasing interest of the story, by the
combination of the entirely natural with the strange and the singular,
make this novel one of the best which has ever been written; besides
this, it has the great advantage that it is quite moral, nay, in a pure
sense, Christian--represents the reward of a good will and perseverance
in the right, strengthens an unconditional confidence in God, and
attests the final triumph of good over evil; and all this without a
trace of cant or pedantry. The author was preserved from both of these
by an elevation of mind that shows itself throughout in the form of
irony, by which this little work must appear to us as wise as it is
amiable. The author, Dr. Goldsmith, has without question great insight
into the moral world, into its strength and its infirmities; but at the
same time he can thankfully acknowledge that he is an Englishman, and
reckon highly the advantages which his country and his nation afford
him. The family, with the delineation of which he occupies himself,
stands upon one of the last steps of citizen comfort, and yet comes in
contact with the highest; its narrow circle, which becomes still more
contracted, touches upon the great world through the natural and civil
course of things; this little skiff floats on the agitated waves of
English life, and in weal or woe it has to expect injury or help from
the vast fleet which sails around it.
I may suppose that my readers know this work, and have it in memory;
whoever hears it named for the first time here, as well as he who
is induced to read it again, will thank me. For the former, I would
merely make the cursory remark, that the vicar's wife is of that
good, busy sort, who allows herself and her own to want for nothing,
but who is also somewhat vain of herself and her own. There are two
daughters,--Olivia, handsome and more devoted to the external, and
Sophia, charming and more given to the internal; nor will I omit to
mention an industrious son, Moses, who is somewhat blunt and emulous of
his father.
If Herder could be accused of any fault in his reading aloud, it was
impatience; he did not wait until the hearer had heard and comprehended
a certain part of the progress, so as to be able to feel and think
correctly about it; hurrying on, he would see their effect at once,
and yet he was displeased even with this when it manifested itself. He
blamed the excess of feeling which overflowed from me more and more
at every step. I felt like a man, like a young man; everything was
living, true, and present before me. He, considering only the intrinsic
contents and form, saw clearly, indeed, that I was overpowered by the
subject-matter, and this he would not allow. Then Peglow's reflections,
which were not of the most refined, were still worse received; but he
was especially angry at our want of keenness in not seeing beforehand
the contrasts of which the author often makes use, and in suffering
ourselves to be moved and carried away by them without remarking the
oft-returning artifice. He would not pardon us for not seeing at once,
or at least suspecting at the very beginning, where Burchell is on the
point of discovering himself by passing over in his narration from the
third to the first person, that he himself is the lord of whom he is
speaking; and when, finally, we rejoiced like children at the discovery
and the transformation of the poor, needy wanderer, into a rich,
powerful lord, he immediately recalled the passage, which, according to
the author's plan, we had overlooked, and read us a powerful lecture
on our stupidity. It wall be seen from this that he regarded the work
merely as a production of art, and required the same of us, who were
yet wandering in that state where it is very allowable to let works of
art affect us like productions of nature.
I did not suffer myself to be at all perplexed by Herder's invectives;
for young people have the happiness or unhappiness, that, when once
anything has produced an effect on them, this effect must be wrought
out within themselves; from which much good, as well as much mischief,
arises. The above work had left with me a great impression, for which I
could not account, but properly speaking, I felt myself in harmony with
that ironical tone of mind which elevates itself above every object,
above fortune and misfortune, good and evil, death and life, and thus
attains to the possession of a truly poetical world. I could not,
indeed, become conscious of this until later; it was enough that it
gave me much to do at the moment; but I could by no means have expected
to be so soon transposed from this fictitious world into a similar real
one.
[Side-note: Pleasures of Travelling Incognito.]
My fellow-boarder, Weyland, who enlivened his quiet, laborious life by
visiting from time to time his friends and relations in the country
(for he was a native of Alsace), did me many services on my little
excursions, by introducing me to different localities and families,
sometimes in person, sometimes by recommendations. He had often spoken
to me about a country clergyman who lived near Drusenheim, six leagues
from Strasburg, in possession of a good benefice, with an intelligent
wife and a pair of amiable daughters. The hospitality and agreeableness
of this family were always highly extolled. It scarcely needed so much
to draw thither a young knight who had already accustomed himself to
spend all his leisure days and hours on horseback and in the open air.
We decided therefore upon this trip, and my friend had to promise that
on introducing me he would say neither good nor ill of me, but would
treat me with general indifference, and would allow me to make my
appearance clad, if not meanly, yet somewhat poorly and negligently. He
consented to this, and promised himself some sport from it.
It is a pardonable whim in men of consequence, to place their
exterior advantages in concealment now and then, so as to allow their
own internal human nature to operate with the greater purity. For
this reason the incognito of princes, and the adventures resulting
therefrom, are always highly pleasing; these appear disguised
divinities, who can reckon at double its value all the good offices
shown to them as individuals, and are in such a position that they
can either make light of the disagreeable or avoid it. That Jupiter
should be well pleased in his incognito with Philemon and Baucis, and
Henry the Fourth with his peasants after a hunting party, is quite
conformable to nature, and we like it well; but that a young man
without importance or name, should take it into his head to derive
some pleasure from an incognito, might be construed by many as an
unpardonable piece of arrogance. Yet since the question here is not of
such views and actions, so far as they are praiseworthy or blameable,
but so far as they can manifest themselves and actually occur, we
will on this occasion, for the sake of our own amusement, pardon the
youngster his self-conceit; and the more so, as I must here allege,
that from youth upwards, a love for disguising myself had been excited
in me even by my stem father.
This time, too, partly by some cast-off clothes of my own, partly by
some borrowed garments and by the manner of combing my hair, I had, if
not disfigured myself, yet at least decked myself out so oddly, that my
friend could not help laughing on the way, especially as I knew how to
imitate perfectly the bearing and gestures of such figures when they
sit on horseback, and which are called "Latin riders." The fine road,
the most splendid weather, and the neighbourhood of the Rhine, put
us in the best humour. At Drusenheim we stopped a moment, he to make
himself spruce, and I to rehearse my part, out of which I was afraid
I should now and then fall. The country here has the characteristics
of all the open, level Alsace. We rode on a pleasant foot-path over
the meadows, soon reached Sesenheim, left our horses at the tavern,
and walked leisurely towards the parsonage. "Do not be put out," said
Weyland, showing me the house from a distance, "because it looks like
an old miserable farm-house, it is so much the younger inside." We
stepped into the court-yard; the whole pleased me well: for it had
exactly that which is called picturesque, and which had so magically
interested me in Dutch art. The effect which time produces on all
human work was strongly perceptible. House, barn, and stable were just
at that point of dilapidation where, indecisive and doubtful between
preserving and rebuilding, one often neglects the one without being
able to accomplish the other.
[Side-note: The Pastor's Family.]
As in the village, so in the court-yard, all was quiet and deserted. We
found the father, a little man, wrapped up within himself, but friendly
notwithstanding, quite alone, for the family were in the fields. He
bade us welcome, and offered us some refreshment, which we declined.
My friend hurried away to look after the ladies, and I remained alone
with our host. "You are perhaps surprised," said he, "to find me
so miserably quartered in a wealthy village, and "with a lucrative
benefice; but," he continued, "this proceeds from irresolution. Long
since it has been promised me by the parish, and even by those in
higher places, that the house shall be rebuilt; many plans have been
already drawn, examined and altered, none of them altogether rejected,
and none carried into execution. This has lasted so many years, that
I scarcely know how to command my impatience." I made him an answer
such as I thought likely to cherish his hopes, and to encourage him
to pursue the affair more vigorously. Upon this he proceeded to
describe familiarly the personages on whom such matters depended, and
although he was no great delineator of character, I could nevertheless
easily comprehend how the whole business must have been delayed. The
confidential tone of the man was something peculiar; he talked to
me as if he had known me for ten years, while there was nothing in
his look from which I could have suspected that he was directing any
attention to me. At last my friend came in with the mother. She seemed
to look at me with quite different eyes. Her countenance was regular,
and the expression of it intelligent; she must have been beautiful in
her youth. Her figure was tall and spare, but not more so than became
her years, and when seen from behind, she had yet quite a youthful and
pleasing appearance. The elder daughter then came bouncing in briskly;
she inquired after Frederica, just as both the others had also done.
The father assured them that he had not seen her since all three had
gone out together. The daughter again went out at the door to look for
her sister; the mother brought us some refreshment, and Weyland, with
the old couple, continued the conversation, which referred to nothing
but known persons and circumstances; as, indeed, it is usually the
case when acquaintances meet after some length of time, that they make
inquiries, and mutually give each other information about the members
of a large circle. I listened, and now learned how much I had to
promise myself from this circle.
The elder daughter again came hastily back into the room, uneasy at
not having found her sister. They were anxious about her, and blamed
her for this or that bad habit; only the father said, very composedly,
"Let her alone; she has already come back!" At this instant she
really entered the door; and then truly a most charming star arose
in this rural heaven. Both daughters still wore nothing but German,
as they used to call it, and this almost obsolete national costume
became Frederica particularly well. A short, white, full skirt, with a
furbelow, not so long but that the neatest little feet were visible up
to the ankle; a tight white bodice and a black taffeta apron,--thus she
stood on the boundary between country girl and city girl. Slender and
light, she tripped along as if she had nothing to carry, and her neck
seemed almost too delicate for the large fair braids on her elegant
little head. From cheerful blue eyes she looked very plainly round, and
her pretty turned-up nose peered as freely into the air as if there
could be no care in the world; her straw hat hung on her arm, and thus,
at the first glance, I had the delight of seeing her, and acknowledging
her at once in all her grace and loveliness.
I now began to act my character with moderation, half ashamed to play
a joke on such good people, whom I had time enough to observe: for the
girls continued the previous conversation, and that with passion and
some display of temper. All the neighbours and connexions were again
brought forward, and there seemed, to my imagination, such a swarm
of uncles and aunts, relations, cousins, comers, goers, gossips and
guests, that I thought myself lodged in the liveliest world possible.
All the members of the family had spoken some words with me, the mother
looked at me every time she came in or went out, but Frederica first
entered into conversation with me, and as I took up and glanced through
some music that was lying around, she asked me if I played also? When I
answered in the affirmative, she requested me to perform something; but
the father would not allow this, for he maintained that it was proper
to serve the guest first with some piece of music or a song.
She played several things with some readiness, in the style which one
usually hears in the country, and on a harpsichord, too, that the
schoolmaster should have tuned long since, if he had only had time. She
was now to sing a song also, a certain tender-melancholy affair; but
she did not succeed in it. She rose up and said, smiling, or rather
with that touch of serene joy which ever reposed, on her countenance,
"If I sing badly, I cannot lay the blame on the harpsichord or the
schoolmaster; but let us go out of doors; then you shall hear my
Alsatian and Swiss songs; they sound much better."
[Side-note: Comparison with the "Vicar of Wakefield."]
During supper, a notion which had already struck me, occupied me to
such a degree, that I became meditative and silent, although the
liveliness of the elder sister, and the gracefulness of the younger,
shook me often enough out of my contemplations. My astonishment at
finding myself so actually in the Wakefield family was beyond all
expression. The father, indeed, could not be compared with that
excellent man; but where will you find his like? On the other hand, all
the dignity which is peculiar to that husband, here appeared in the
wife. One could not see her without at the same time reverencing and
fearing her. In her were remarked the fruits of a good education; her
demeanour was quiet, easy, cheerful, and inviting.