than on the first occasion,--but still in his whole being there
appeared something over-strained, which did not fully indicate
mental health. At the very first I put my mother into the position,
that, between my father's sincere spirit of order and my own various
eccentricities, she was forced to occupy herself with bringing passing
events into a certain medium. At Mayence, a harp-playing boy had so
well pleased me, that, as the fair was close at hand, I invited him
to Frankfort, and promised to give him lodging and to encourage him.
In this occurrence appeared once more that peculiarity which has
cost me so much in my lifetime,--namely, that I liked to see younger
people gather round me and attach themselves to me, by which, indeed,
I am at last encumbered with their fate. One unpleasant experience
after another could not reclaim me from this innate impulse, which
even at present, and in spite of the clearest conviction, threatens
from time to time to lead me astray. My mother, clearer than myself,
plainly foresaw how strange it would appear to my father, if a musical
fair-vagabond went from such a respectable house to taverns and
drinking-houses to earn his bread. Hence she provided him with board
and lodging in the neighbourhood. I recommended him to my friends; and
thus the lad did not fare badly. After several years I saw him again,
when he had grown taller and more clumsy, without having advanced much
in his art. The good lady, well contented with this first attempt at
squaring and hushing up, did not think that this art would immediately
become completely necessary to her. My father, leading a contented life
amid his old tastes and occupations, was comfortable, like one who, in
spite of all hindrances and delays, carries out his plans. I had now
gained my degree, and the first step to the further graduating course
of citizen-life was taken. My _Disputation_ had obtained his applause;
a further examination of it, and many a preparation for a future
edition gave him occupation. During my residence in Alsace, I had
written many little poems, essays, notes on travel, and several loose
sheets. He found amusement in bringing these under heads, in arranging
them, and in devising their completion; and was delighted with the
expectation that my hitherto insuperable dislike to see any of these
things printed would soon cease. My sister had collected around her a
circle of intelligent and amiable women. Without being domineering, she
domineered over all, as her good understanding could overlook much, and
her good-will could often accommodate matters; moreover, she was in the
position of playing the confidant, rather than the rival. Of my older
friends and companions, I found in Horn the unalterably true friend
and cheerful associate. I also became intimate with Riese, who did not
fail to practise and try my acuteness by opposing, with a persevering
contradiction, doubt and negation to a dogmatic enthusiasm into which
I too readily fell. Others, by degrees, entered into this circle, whom
I shall afterwards mention; but among the persons who rendered my new
residence in my native city pleasant and profitable, the brothers
Schlosser certainly stood at the head. The elder, Heronymus, a profound
and elegant jurist, enjoyed universal confidence as counsellor. His
favourite abode was amongst his books and papers, in rooms where the
greatest order prevailed; there I have never found him otherwise than
cheerful and sympathising. In a larger society also he showed himself
agreeable and entertaining, for his mind, by extensive reading, was
adorned with all the beauty of antiquity. He did not, on occasion,
disdain to increase the social pleasures by agreeable Latin poems;
and I still possess several sportive distiches which he wrote under
some portraits drawn by me of strange and generally known Frankfort
caricatures. Often I consulted with him as to the course of life and
business I was now commencing; and if an hundredfold inclinations and
passions had not torn me from this path, he would have been my surest
guide.
Nearer to me, in point of age, was his brother George, who had
again returned from Treptow, from the service of the Duke Eugene of
Würtemberg. While he had advanced in knowledge of the world and in
practical talent, he had not remained behindhand in a survey of German
and foreign literature. He liked, as before, to write in all languages;
but did not further excite me in this respect, as I devoted myself
exclusively to German, and only cultivated other languages so far as to
enable me, in some measure, to read the best authors in the original.
His honesty showed itself the same as ever; nay, his acquaintance with
the world may have occasioned him to adhere with more severity and even
obstinacy to his well-meaning views.
[Side-note: Merk.]
Through these two friends, I very soon became acquainted with Merck, to
whom I had not been unfavourably announced by Herder, from Strasburg.
This strange man, who had the greatest influence on my life, was a
native of Darmstadt. Of his early education I can say but little. After
finishing his studies, he conducted a young man to Switzerland, where
he remained for some time, and came back married. When I made his
acquaintance, he was military paymaster at Darmstadt. Born with mind
and understanding, he had acquired much elegant knowledge, especially
in modern literature, and had paid attention to all times and places
in the history of the world and of man. He had the talent of judging
with certainty and acuteness. He was prized as a thorough, decisive man
of business, and a ready accountant. With ease he gained an entrance
everywhere, as a very pleasant companion for those to whom he had not
rendered himself formidable by sarcasms. His figure was long and lean;
a sharp prominent nose was remarkable; light blue, perhaps grey eyes,
gave something tiger-like to his glance, which wandered attentively
here and there. Lavater's _Physiognomy_ has preserved his profile for
us. In his character there was a wonderful contradiction. By nature
a good, noble, upright man, he had embittered himself against the
world, and allowed this morbid whim to sway him to such a degree,
that he felt an irresistible inclination to be wilfully a rogue, or
even a villain. Sensible, quiet, kind at one moment, it might strike
him in the next---just as a snail puts out his horns--to do something
which might hurt, wound, or even injure another. Yet as one readily
associates with something dangerous when one believes oneself safe
from it, I felt so much the greater inclination to live with him, and
to enjoy his good qualities, since a confident feeling allowed me to
suspect that he would not turn his bad side towards me. While now, by
this morally restless mind,--by this necessity of treating men in
a malignant and spiteful way, he on one side destroyed social life,
another disquiet, which also he very carefully fostered within himself,
opposed his internal comfort; namely he felt a certain _dilettantish_
impulse to production, in which he indulged the more readily, as he
expressed himself easily and happily in prose and verse, and might well
venture to play a part among the _beaux esprits_ of the time. I myself
still possess poetical epistles, full of uncommon boldness, force,
and Swift-like gall, which are highly remarkable from their original
views of persons and things, but are at the same time written with such
wounding power, that I could not publish them, even at present, but
must either destroy them or preserve them for posterity as striking
documents of the secret discord in our literature. However, the fact
that in all his labours he went to work negatively and destructively,
was unpleasant to himself, and he often declared that he envied me that
innocent love of setting forth a subject which arose from the pleasure
I took both in the original and the imitation.
For the rest, his literary _dilettantism_ would have been rather useful
than injurious to him, if he had not felt an irresistible impulse to
enter also into the technical and mercantile department. For when he
once began to curse his faculties, and was beside himself that he could
not, with sufficient genius, satisfy his claims to a practical talent,
he gave up now plastic art, now poetry, and thought of mercantile and
manufacturing undertakings, which were to bring in money while they
afforded him amusement.
In Darmstadt there was besides a society of very cultivated men.
Privy Councillor von Hess, Minister of the Landgrave, Professor
Petersen, Rector Wenk, and others, were the naturalized persons whose
worth attracted by turns many neighbours from other parts, and many
travellers through the city. The wife of the privy councillor and
her sister, Demoiselle Flachsland, were ladies of uncommon merit
and talents; the latter, who was betrothed to Herder, being doubly
interesting from her own qualities and her attachment to so excellent a
man.
How much I was animated and advanced by this circle is not to be
expressed. They readily heard me read aloud my completed or begun
works; they encouraged me, when I openly and circumstantially told
what I was then planning, and blamed me when on every new occasion I
laid aside what I had already commenced. _Faust_ had already advanced;
_Götz von Berlichingen_ was gradually building itself up in my mind:
the study of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries occupied me; and
the minster had left in me a very serious impression, which could well
stand as a background to such poetical inventions.
[Side-note: Paper on German Architecture.]
What I had thought and imagined with respect to that style of
architecture, I wrote in a connected form. The first point on which I
insisted was, that it should be called German, and not Gothic; that it
should be considered not foreign, but native. The second point was,
that it could not be compared with the architecture of the Greeks and
Romans, because it sprang from quite another principle. If these,
living under a more favourable sky, allowed their roof to rest upon
columns, a wall, broken through, arose of its own accord. We, however,
who must always protect ourselves against the weather, and everywhere
surround ourselves with walls, have to revere the genius who discovered
the means of endowing massive walls with variety, of apparently
breaking them through, and of thus occupying the eye in a worthy and
pleasing manner on the broad surface. The same principle applied to the
steeples, which are not, like cupolas, to form a heaven within, but to
strive towards heaven without, and to announce to the countries far
around the existence of the sanctuary which lies at their base. The
interior of these venerable piles I only ventured to touch by poetical
contemplation and a pious tone.
If I had been pleased to write down these views, the value of which I
will not deny, clearly and distinctly, in an intelligible style, the
paper "On German Architecture, I: M: Ervini a Steinback," would then,
when I published it, have produced more effect, and would sooner have
drawn the attention of the native friends of art. But, misled by the
example of Herder and Hamann, I obscured these very simple thoughts and
observations by a dusty cloud of words and phrases, and both for myself
and others, darkened the light which had arisen within me. However,
the paper was well received, and reprinted in Herder's work on German
manner and art.
If now, partly from inclination, partly with poetical and other
views, I very readily occupied myself with the antiquities of my
country, and sought to render them present to my mind, I was from
time to time distracted from this subject by biblical studies and
religious sympathies, since Luther's life and deeds, which shine forth
so magnificently in the sixteenth century, always necessarily brought
me back to the Holy Scriptures, and to the observation of religious
feelings and opinions. To look upon the Bible as a work of compilation,
which had gradually arisen, and had been elaborated at different
times, was flattering to my little self-conceit, since this view
was then by no means predominant,--much less was it received in the
circle in which I lived. With respect to the chief sense, I adhered to
Luther's expression; in matters of detail, I went to Schmidt's literal
translation, and sought to use my little Hebrew as well as possible.
That there are contradictions in the Bible, no one will now deny.
These they sought to reconcile by laying down the plainest passage as
a foundation, and endeavouring to assimilate to that those that were
contradictory and less clear. I, on the contrary, wished to find out,
by examination, what passage best expressed the sense of the matter. To
this I adhered, and rejected the rest as interpolated.
For a fundamental opinion had already confirmed itself in me, without
my being able to say whether it had been imparted to me, or had been
excited in me, or had arisen from my own reflection. It was this,--that
in anything which is handed down to us, especially in writing, the
real point is the ground, the interior, the sense, the tendency of
the work; that here lies the original, the divine, the effective, the
intact, the indestructible; and that no time, no external operation or
condition, can in any degree affect this internal primeval nature, at
least no more than the sickness of the body affects a well-cultivated
soul. Thus, according to my view, the language, the dialect, the
peculiarity, the style, and finally the writing, were to be regarded as
the body of every work of mind; this body, although nearly enough akin
to the internal, was yet exposed to deterioration and corruption; as,
indeed, altogether no tradition can be given quite pure, according to
its nature; nor, indeed, if one were given pure, could it be perfectly
intelligible at every following period,--the former on account of the
insufficiency of the organs through which the tradition is made,--the
latter on account of the difference of time and place,--but specially
the diversify of human capacities and modes of thought; for which
reason the interpreters themselves never agree.
Hence it is everybody's duty to seek out for what is internal and
peculiar in a book which particularly interests us, and at the same
time, above all things, to weigh in what relation it stands to our
own inner nature, and how far, by that vitality, our own is excited
and rendered fruitful. On the other hand, everything external that is
ineffective with respect to ourselves, or is subject to a doubt, is to
be consigned over to criticism, which, even if it should be able to
dislocate and dismember the whole, would never succeed in depriving us
of the only ground to which we hold fast, nor even in perplexing us for
a moment with respect to our once formed confidence.
[Side-note: Study of the Bible.]
This conviction, sprung from faith and sight, which in all cases that
we recognise as the most important, is applicable and strengthening,
lies at the foundation of the moral as well as the literary edifice of
my life, and is to be regarded as a well-invested and richly productive
capital, although in particular cases we may be seduced into making an
erroneous application. By this notion, the Bible first became really
accessible to me. I had, as is the case in the religious instruction
of Protestants, run through it several times, nay, had made myself
acquainted with it, by way of leaps from beginning to end and back
again. The blunt naturalness of the Old Testament, and the tender
_naïveté_ of the New, had attracted me in particular instances; as a
whole, indeed, it never properly appealed to me; but now the diverse
characters of the different books no more perplexed me; I knew how to
represent to myself their significance faithfully and in proper order,
and had too much feeling for the book to be ever able to do without
it. By this very side of feeling I was protected against all scoffing,
because I saw its dishonesty at once. I not only detested it, but could
even fall in a rage about it; and I still perfectly remember that in my
childishly fanatical zeal I should have completely throttled Voltaire,
on account of his _Saul_, if I could only have got at him. On the
other hand, every kind of honest investigation pleased me greatly; the
revelations as to the locality and costume of the East, which diffused
more and more light, I received with joy, and continued to exercise
all my acuteness on such valuable traditions.
It is known that at an earlier period I sought to initiate myself
into the situation of the world, as described to us by the first book
of Moses. As I now thought to proceed stepwise, and in proper order,
I seized, after a long interruption, on the second book. But what a
difference! Just as the fulness of childhood had vanished from my life,
so did I find the second book separated from the first by a monstrous
chasm. The utter forgetfulness of a bygone time is already expressed
in the few important words, "Now there arose a new king over Egypt,
which knew not Joseph." But the people also, innumerable as the stars
of heaven, had almost forgotten the ancestor to whom, under the starry
heaven, Jehovah had made the very promise which was now fulfilled. I
worked through the five books with unspeakable trouble and insufficient
means and powers, and in doing this fell upon the strangest notions.
I thought I had discovered that it was not our ten commandments which
stood upon the tables that the Israelites did not wander through the
desert for forty years, but only for a short time; and thus I fancied
that I could give entirely new revelations as to the character of Moses.
Even the New Testament was not safe from my inquiries; with my passion
for dissection, I did not spare it, but with love and affection I
chimed in with that wholesome word, "The evangelists may contradict
each other, provided only the gospel does not contradict itself." In
this region also I thought I should make all sorts of discoveries.
That gift of tongues imparted at Pentecost with lustre and clearness,
I interpreted for myself in a somewhat abstruse manner, not adapted to
procure many adherents.
Into one of the chief Lutheran doctrines, which has been still more
sharpened by the Hernhuters,--namely, that of regarding the sinful
principle as predominant in man,--I endeavoured to accommodate myself,
but without remarkable success. Nevertheless I had made the terminology
of this doctrine tolerably my own, and made use of it in a letter,
which, in the character of country pastor, I was pleased to send to a
new brother in office. However, the chief theme in the paper was that
watchword of the time, called "Toleration," which prevailed among the
better order of brains and minds.
Such things, which were produced by degrees, I had printed at my own
cost in the following year, to try myself with the public,--made
presents of them, or sent them to Eichenberg's shop, in order to
get rid of them as fast as possible, without deriving any profit
myself. Here and there a review mentions them, now favourably, now
unfavourably,--but they soon passed away. My father kept them carefully
in his archives, otherwise I should not have possessed a copy of them.
I shall add these, as well as some things of the kind which I have
found, to the new edition of my works.
[Side-note: Hamann.]
Since I had really been seduced into the sybilline style of such
papers, as well as into the publication of them, by Hamann, this
seems to me a proper place to make mention of this worthy and
influential man, who was then as great a mystery to us as he has
always remained to his native country. His _Socratio Memorabilia_ was
more especially liked by those persons who could not adapt themselves
to the dazzling spirit of the time. It was suspected that he was a
profound, well-grounded man, who, accurately acquainted with the
public world and with literature, allowed of something mysterious and
unfathomable, and expressed himself on this subject in a manner quite
his own. By those who then ruled the literature of the day, he was
indeed considered an abstruse mystic, but an aspiring youth suffered
themselves to be attracted by him. Even the "Quiet-in-the-lands," as
they were called--half in jest, half in earnest--those pious souls,
who, without professing themselves members of any society, formed an
invisible church, turned their attention to him; while to my friend
Fräulein von Klettenberg, and no less to her friend Moser, the "Magus
from the North" was a welcome apparition. People put themselves the
more in connexion with him, when they had learned that he was tormented
by narrow domestic circumstances, but nevertheless understood how to
maintain this beautiful and lofty mode of thought. With the great
influence of President von Moser, it would have been easy to provide a
tolerable and convenient existence for such a frugal man. The matter
was set on foot, nay, so good an understanding and mutual approval was
attained, that Hamann undertook the long journey from Königsberg to
Darmstadt. But as the president happened to be absent, that odd man,
no one knows on what account, returned at once, though a friendly
correspondence was kept up. I still possess two letters from the
Königsberger to his patron, which bear testimony to the wondrous
greatness and sincerity of their author.
But so good an understanding was not to last long. These pious men had
thought the other one pious in their own fashion; they had treated
him with reverence as the "Magus of the North," and thought that he
would continue to exhibit himself with a reverend demeanour. But
already in the _Clouds_, an after-piece of _Socratic Memorabilia_, he
had given some offence; and when he now published the _Crusades of a
Philologist_, on the title-page of which was to be seen not only the
goat-profile of a horned Pan, but also on one of the first pages, a
large cock, cut in wood, and setting time to some young cockerels,
who stood before him with notes in their claws, made an exceedingly
ridiculous appearance, by which certain church-music, of which the
author did not approve, was to be made a laughing-stock,--there arose
among well-minded and sensitive people a dissatisfaction, which was
exhibited to the author, who, not being edified by it, shunned a closer
connexion. Our attention to this man was, however, always kept alive
by Herder, who, remaining in correspondence with us and his betrothed,
communicated to us at once all that proceeded from that extraordinary
man. To these belonged his critiques and notices, inserted in the
_Königsberg Zeitung_, all of which bore a very singular character.
I possess an almost complete collection of his works, and a very
important essay on Herder's prize paper concerning the origin of
language, in which, in the most peculiar manner, he throws flashes of
light upon this specimen of Herder.
I do not give up the hope of superintending myself, or at least
furthering, an edition of Hamann's works; and then, when these
documents are again before the public, it will be time to speak more
closely of the author, his nature and character. In the meanwhile,
however, I will here adduce something concerning him, especially as
eminent men are still living who felt a great regard for him, and
whose assent or correction will be very welcome to me. The principle
to which all Hamann's expressions may be referred is this: "All that
man undertakes to perform, whether by deed, by word, or otherwise,
must proceed from all his powers united; everything isolated is
worthless." A noble maxim, but hard to follow. To life and art it may
indeed be applied, but in every communication by words, that is not
exactly poetic, there is, on the contrary, a grand difficulty; for a
word must sever itself, isolate itself, to say or signify anything.
Man, while he speaks, must, for the moment, become one-sided; there is
no communication, no instruction, without severing. Now since Hamann,
once for all, opposed this separation, and because he felt, imagined,
and thought in unity, chose to speak in unity likewise, and to require
the same of others, he came into opposition with his own style, and
with all that others produced. To produce the impossible, he therefore
grasps at every element; the deepest and most mystical contemplations
in which nature and mind meet each other-illuminating flashes of the
understanding, which beam forth from such a contact--significant
images, which float in these regions--forcible aphorisms from sacred
and profane writers--with whatever else of a humorous kind could be
added--all this forms the wondrous aggregate of his style and his
communications. If, now, one cannot associate oneself with him in his
depths--cannot wander with him on his heights--cannot master the forms
which float before him--cannot, from an infinitely extended literature,
exactly find out the sense of a passage which is only hinted at--we
find that the more we study him, the more dim and dark it becomes;
and this darkness always increases with years, because his allusions
were directed to certain definite peculiarities which prevailed, for
the moment, in life and in literature. In my collection there are some
of his printed sheets, where he has cited with his own hand, in the
margin, the passages to which his hints refer. If one opens them, there
is again a sort of equivocal double light, which appears to us highly
agreeable; only one must completely renounce what is ordinarily called
understanding. Such leaves merit to be called sybilline, for this
reason, that one cannot consider them in and for themselves, but must
wait for an opportunity to seek refuge with their oracles. Every time
that one opens them one fancies one has found something new, because
the sense which abides in every passage touches and excites us in a
curious manner.