who were assembled, plainly saw what sort of a lever was required to
move from its place a load like that of Sisyphus. Fifty assessors were
now to be appointed, but the number was never made up: the half of it
was again made to suffice, because the expense appeared too great;
but if the parties interested had all seen their advantage in the
matter, the whole might well have been afforded. To pay five-and-twenty
assessors about one hundred thousand florins (_gulden_) were required,
and how easily could double that amount have been raised in Germany?
The proposition to endow the Imperial Chamber with confiscated church
property could not pass, for how could the two religious parties agree
to such a sacrifice? The Catholics were not willing to lose any more,
and the Protestants wished to employ what they had gained, each for his
own private ends. The division of the empire into two religious parties
had here, in several respects, the worst influence. The interest which
the estates took in this their court diminished more and more; the more
powerful wished to free themselves from the confederation; licenses
exempting their possessor from being prosecuted before any higher
tribunal were sought with more and more eagerness; the greater kept
back with their payments, while the lesser, who, moreover, believed
themselves wronged in the estimates, delayed as long as they could.
How difficult was it, therefore, to raise the supplies necessary for
payment. Hence arose a new occupation, a new loss of time for the
chamber; previously the so-called annual "visitations" had taken care
of this matter. Princes in person, or their councillors, went only
for months or weeks to the place of the court, examined the state of
the treasury, investigated the arrears, and undertook to get them in.
At the same time, if anything was about to create an impediment in
the course of law or the court, or any abuse to creep in, they were
authorised to provide a remedy. The faults of the institution they
were to discover and remove, but it was not till afterwards that the
investigation and punishment of the personal crimes of its members
became a part of their duty. But because parties engaged in litigation
always like to extend their hopes a moment longer, and on this account
always seek and appeal to higher authorities, so did these "visitators"
become a court of revision, from which, at first in determined manifest
cases, persons hoped to find restitution, but at last in all cases,
delay and perpetuation of the controversy, to which the appeal to the
Imperial diet, and the endeavour of the two religious parties, if
not to outweigh each other, at any rate to preserve an equilibrium,
contributed their part.
But if one considers what this court might have been without such
obstacles, without such disturbing and destructive conditions, one
cannot imagine it remarkable and important enough. Had it been supplied
at the beginning with a sufficient number of persons, had a sufficient
support been secured to them, the monstrous influence which this body
might have attained, considering the aptness of the Germans, would have
been immeasurable. The honourable title of "Amphictyons," which was
only bestowed on them oratorically, they would actually have deserved,
nay, they might have elevated themselves into an intermediate power,
while revered by the head and the members.
But far removed from such great effects, the court, excepting for a
short time under Charles V., and before the Thirty Years' war, dragged
itself miserably along. One often cannot understand how men could be
found for such a thankless and melancholy employment. But what a man
does every day he puts up with, if he has any talent for it, even if
he does not exactly see that anything will come of it. The German
especially is of this persevering turn of mind, and thus for three
hundred years the worthiest men have employed themselves on these
labours and objects. A characteristic gallery of such figures would
even now excite interest and inspire courage.
For it is just in such anarchical times that the able man takes the
strongest position, and he who desires what is good finds himself right
in his place. Thus, for instance, the _Directorium_ of Fürstenberg was
still held in blessed memory, and with the death of this excellent man
begins the epoch of many pernicious abuses.
But all these defects, whether later or earlier, arose from one only
original source, the small number of persons. It was decreed that the
assistants were to act in a fixed order, and according to a determined
arrangement. Every one could know when the turn would come to him, and
which of the cases belonging to him it would affect; he could work
up to this point,--he could prepare himself. But now the innumerable
arrears had heaped themselves up, and they were forced to resolve to
select the more important cases, and to deal with them out of order.
But with a pressure of important affairs, the decision as to which
matter has the more weight, is difficult, and selection leaves room for
favour. Now, another critical case occurred. The _Referent_ tormented
both himself and the court with a difficult involved affair, and at
last no one was found willing to take up the judgment. The parties had
come to an agreement, had separated, had died, had changed their minds.
Hence they resolved to take in hand only the cases of which they were
reminded. They wished to be convinced of the continued obstinacy of the
parties, and hence was given an introduction to the greatest defects,
for he who commends his affairs, must commend them to somebody, and to
whom can one commend them better, than to him who has them already in
his hands? To keep this one regularly secret was impossible; for how
could he remain concealed with so many subordinates, all acquainted
with the matter? If acceleration is requested, favour may well be
requested likewise, for the very fact that people urge their cause,
shows that they consider it just. This will perhaps not be done in a
direct manner, certainly it will be first done through subordinates;
these must be gained over, and thus an introduction is given to all
sorts of intrigues and briberies.
The Emperor Joseph, following his own impulse, and in imitation of
Frederic, first directed his attention to arms and the administration
of justice. He cast his eyes upon the Imperial Chamber; traditional
wrongs, introduced abuses had not remained unknown to him. Even here
something was to be stirred up, shaken, and done. Without inquiring
whether it was his imperial right, without foreseeing the possibility
of a happy result, he proposed a revival of the "visitation," and
hastened its opening. For one hundred and sixty years no regular
"visitation" had taken place; a monstrous chaos of papers lay swelled
up and increased every year, since the seventeen assessors were not
even able to despatch the current business. Twenty thousand processes
were heaped up; sixty could be settled every year, and double that
number was brought forward. Besides, it was not a small number of
revisions that awaited the "visitators,"--they were estimated at fifty
thousand. Many other abuses, in addition to this, hindered the course
of justice; but the most critical matter of all was the personal
delinquency of some assessors, which appeared in the background.
[Side-note: The "visitation" at Wetzlar.]
When I was about to go to Wetzlar, the "visitation" had been already
for some years in operation, the parties accused had been suspended
from office, the investigation had been carried a long way; and because
the masters and commissioners of German political law could not let
pass this opportunity of exhibiting their sagacity and devoting it
to the common weal, several profound, well-designed works appeared,
from which every one, who possessed only some preparatory knowledge,
could derive solid instruction. When on this occasion they went back
into the constitution of the empire and the books written upon it,
it was striking to me how the monstrous condition of this thoroughly
diseased body, which was kept alive by a miracle alone, was the very
thing that most suited the learned. For the venerable German industry,
which was more directed to the collection and development of details
than to results, found here an inexhaustible impulse to new employment,
and whether the empire was opposed to the Emperor, the lesser to
the greater estates, or the Catholics to the Protestants, there was
necessarily always, according to the diversity of interest, a diversity
of opinion, and always an occasion for new contests and controversies.
Since I had rendered all these older and newer circumstances as present
to my mind as possible, it was impossible for me to promise myself
much pleasure from my abode at Wetzlar. The prospect of finding in a
city, which was indeed well situated, but small and ill-built, a double
world; first the domestic, old traditional world, then a foreign new
one, authorized to scrutinize the other with severity,--a judging
and a judged tribunal; many an inhabitant in fear and anxiety, lest
he might also be drawn into the impending investigation; persons of
consideration, long held in respect, convicted of the most scandalous
misdeeds, and marked out for disgraceful punishment;--all this together
made the most dismal picture, and could not lure me to go deeper into a
business, which, involved in itself, seemed so much perplexed by wrong.
That, excepting the German civil and public law, I should find
nothing remarkable in the scientific way, that I should be without
all poetical communication, I thought I could foresee, when, after
some delay, the desire of altering my situation more than impulse to
knowledge led me to this spot. But how surprised I was, when, instead
of a crabbed society, a third academical life sprang towards me. At a
large _table d'hôte_ I found a number of young lively people, nearly
all subordinates to the commission; they gave me a friendly reception,
and the very first day it remained no secret to me that they had
cheered their noon-meetings by a romantic fiction. With much wit and
cheerfulness they represented a table of knights. At the top sat the
grand-master, by his side the chancellor, then the most important
officers of the state; now followed the knights, according to their
seniority. Strangers, on the other hand, who visited, were forced to
be content with the lowest places, and to these the conversation was
almost unintelligible, because the language of the society, in addition
to the chivalric expressions, was enriched with many allusions. To
every one a name with an epithet was assigned. Me they called "Götz
von Berlichingen the honest." The former I earned by the attention
to the gallant German patriarch, the latter by my upright affection
and devotion for the eminent men with whom I became acquainted. To
the Count von Kielmannsegg I was much indebted during this residence.
He was the most serious of all, highly clever, and to be relied on.
There was Von Goué, a man hard to be deciphered and described, a
blunt, kind, quietly reserved Hanoverian figure. He was not wanting
in talent of various kinds. It was conjectured concerning him that he
was a natural son; he loved, besides, a certain mysterious deportment,
and concealed his most peculiar wishes and plans under various
eccentricities, as indeed he was, properly speaking, the very soul of
the odd confederation of knights, without having striven to attain the
post of grand-master. On the contrary, when, just at this time, the
head of the knighthood departed, he caused another to be elected, and
through him exercised his influence. Thus he managed so to direct
several little trifles, that they appeared of importance, and could be
carried out in mythical forms. But with all this no serious purpose
could be remarked in him,--he was only concerned to get rid of the
tedium which he and his colleagues, during their protracted occupation,
necessarily felt, and to fill up the empty space, if only with cobwebs.
For the rest, this mythical caricature was carried on with great
external seriousness, and no one found it ridiculous if a certain mill
was treated as a castle, and the miller as lord of the fortress, if
the "Four Sons of Haimon" was declared a canonical book, and on the
occasion of ceremonies, extracts from it were read with veneration. The
dubbing of knights took place with traditional symbols, borrowed from
several orders of knighthood. A chief motive for jest was the fact,
that what was manifest was treated as a secret; the affair was carried
on publicly, and yet nothing was to be said about it. The list of the
whole body of knights was printed with as much importance as a calendar
of the Imperial diet, and if families ventured to scoff at this, and to
declare the whole matter absurd and ridiculous, they were punished by
an intrigue being carried on until a solemn husband or near relation
was induced to join the company and to be dubbed a knight; for then
there was a splendid burst of malicious joy at the annoyance of the
connexions.
[Side-note: Whimsical Societies at Wetzlar.]
Into this chivalric state of existence another strange order had
insinuated itself, which was to be philosophical and mystical, and
had no name of its own. The first degree was called the "Transition,"
the second the "Transition's transition," the third the "Transition's
transition to the transition," and the fourth the "Transition's
transition to the transition's transition." To interpret the high sense
of this series of degrees was now the duty of the initiated, and this
was done according to the standard of a little printed book, in which
these strange words were explained, or rather amplified, in a manner
still more strange. Occupation with these things was the most desirable
pastime. The folly of Behrisch and the perversity of Lenz seemed here
to have united themselves; I only repeat that not a trace of purpose
was to be found behind these veils.
Although I very readily took part in such fooleries, had first brought
into order the extracts from "The Four Sons of Haimon," made proposals
how they should be read on feasts and solemn occasions, and even
understood how to deliver them myself with great emphasis, I had,
nevertheless, grown weary of such things before, and therefore as I
missed my Frankfort and Darmstadt circles, I was highly pleased to
have found Gotter, who attached himself to me with honest affection,
and to whom I showed in return a hearty good-will. His turn of mind
was delicate, clear, and cheerful, his talents were practised and
well regulated, he aimed at French elegance, and was pleased with
that part of English literature which is occupied with moral and
agreeable subjects. We passed together many pleasant hours, in which
we communicated to each other our knowledge, plans, and inclinations.
He excited me to many little works, especially as, being in connexion
with the people of Göttingen, he desired some of my poems for Boie's
_Almanach._
I thus came into contact with those, who, young and hill of talent,
held themselves together, and afterwards effected so much and in such
various ways. The two Counts Stolberg, Bürger, Voss, Hölty, and others
were assembled in faith and spirit around Klopstock, whose influence
extended in every direction. In such a poetical circle, which more and
more extended itself, was developed at the same time with such manifold
poetical merits, another turn of mind, to which I can give no exactly
proper name. It might be called the need of independence, which always
arises in time of peace, and exactly when, properly speaking, one is
not dependent. In war we bear the rude force as well as we can, we feel
ourselves physically and economically, but not morally, wounded; the
constraint shames no one, and it is no disgraceful service to serve
the time; we accustom ourselves to suffer from foes and friends; we
have wishes, but no particular views. In peace, on the contrary, man's
love of freedom becomes more and more prominent, and the more free one
is, the more free one wishes to be. We will not tolerate anything over
us; we will not be restrained, no one shall be restrained; and this
tender, nay, morbid feeling, appears in noble souls under the form of
justice. This spirit and feeling then showed itself everywhere, and
just because few were oppressed, it was wished to free even these from
temporary oppression, and thus arose a certain moral feud, a mixture of
individuals with the government, which, with laudable beginnings, led
to inevitably unfortunate results.
[Side-note: Difficulty of German patriotism.]
Voltaire, by the protection which he had bestowed on the family of
Calas, had excited great attention and made himself respected. In
Germany the attempt of Lavater against the _Landvogt_ (sheriff of the
province) had been almost more striking and important. The æsthetical
feeling, united with youthful courage, strove forward, and as, shortly
before, persons had studied to obtain offices, they now began to
act as overlookers of those in office; and the time was near when
the dramatist and novelist loved best to seek their villains among
ministers and official persons. Hence arose a world, half real, half
imaginary, of action and reaction, in which we afterwards lived to see
the most violent imputations and instigations, which the writers of
periodical publications and journals with a sort of passion allowed
themselves under the garb of justice, and went to work the more
irresistibly, as they made the public believe that it was itself the
true tribunal--a foolish notion, as no public has an executive power,
and in dismembered Germany public opinion neither benefited nor injured
any one.
Among us young people there was indeed nothing to be traced, which
could have been culpable, but a certain similar notion, composed of
poetry, morality, and a noble striving, and which was harmless but yet
fruitless, had taken possession of us.
By his _Hermann's-Schlacht_,[2] and the dedication of it to Joseph
the Second, Klopstock had produced a wonderful excitement. The
Germans who freed themselves from Roman oppression were nobly and
powerfully represented, and this picture was well suited to awaken
the self-feeling of a nation. But because in peace patriotism really
consists only in this, that every one sweeps his own door, minds his
own business, and learns his own lesson, that it may go well with his
house,--so did the feeling for fatherland, excited by Klopstock, find
no object on which it could exercise itself. Frederic had saved the
honour of one part of the Germans against an united world, and every
member of the nation, by applause and reverence of this great prince,
was allowed to share in his victory; but what was to come of this
excited, warlike spirit of defiance? what direction should it take,
and what effect produce? At first it was merely a poetical form, and
the songs ridiculous, were accumulated through this impulse,--this
incitement. There were no external enemies to fight; so people made
tyrants for themselves, and for this purpose princes and their servants
were obliged to bestow their figures, first only in general outline,
but gradually with particulars. Here it was that poetry attached itself
with vehemence to that interference with the administration of justice,
which is blamed above; and it is remarkable to see poems of that time
written in a spirit by which everything of a higher order, whether
monarchical or aristocratic, is abolished.
For my own part, I continued to make poetry the expression of my own
whims and feelings. Little poems like the "Wanderer" belong to this
time; they were inserted in the _Göttingen Musenalmanach._ But from
whatever of the above-mentioned mania had worked itself into me, I
shortly endeavoured to free myself in _Götz von Berlichingen_, since
I described how in disordered times this brave, well-thinking man
resolves to take the place of the law and the executive power, but is
in despair when, to the supreme authority, which he recognises and
reveres, he appears in an equivocal light, and even rebellious.
By Klopstock's odes, it was not so much the Northern mythology as the
nomenclature of the divinities, that had been introduced into German
poetry; and although I gladly made use of everything else that was
offered me, I could not bring myself to use this, for the following
causes: I had long become acquainted with the fables of the Edda, from
the preface to Mallet's _Danish History_, and had at once made myself
master of them. They belonged to those tales which, when asked by a
company, I most willingly related. Herder put Resenius into my hands,
and made me better acquainted with the heroic _sagas._ But all these
things, worthy as I held them, I could not bring within the circle
of my own poetic faculty. Nobly as they excited my imagination, they
nevertheless entirely withdrew themselves from the sensuous perception,
while the mythology of the Greeks, changed by the greatest artists in
the world into visible, easily imagined forms, still existed before
our own eyes in abundance. Gods in general I did not allow' often
to appear, because, at all events, they had their abode out of the
Nature, which I understood how to imitate. What now could have induced
to substitute Woden for Jupiter, and Thor for Mars, and instead of the
Southern, accurately described figures, to introduce forms of mist,
nay, mere verbal sounds, into my poems? On the one side, they were
related to the equally formless heroes of Ossian, only they were ruder
and more gigantic; on the other, I brought them into contact with the
cheerful tale; for the humoristic vein which runs through the whole
Northern mythus, was to me highly pleasing and remarkable. It appeared
to me the only one which jests with itself throughout,--wondrous
giants, magicians, and monsters opposed to an odd dynasty of gods, and
only occupied in leading astray and deriding the highest persons during
their government, while they threaten them, besides, with disgraceful
and inevitable destruction.
I felt a similar if not an equal interest for the Indian fables, which
I at first learned to know from Dapper's _Travels_, and likewise added
with great pleasure to my store of tales. In subsequent repetitions I
succeeded especially with the Altar of Ram; and notwithstanding the
great number of persons in this tale, the ape Hannemann remained the
favorite of my public. But even these unformed and over-formed monsters
could not satisfy me in a true poetic sense; they lay too far from the
truth, towards which my mind unceasingly strove.
[Side-note: Taste for Homer.]